A Game of Fangs
by Raunchel
Summary: A member of the von Carstein family is torn to Westeros while working on a magical ritual.
1. 1 Dieter I

**DIETRICH**

Dietrich looked at the one for whom he had betrayed his vows, his people and all of humanity. She looked back at him, with her eerie eyes. For a moment he thought that they were yellow, but they couldn't. He had never seen her before, and the mere sight of the lady made him tremble. It was her who broke the silence: "You have it?"

"My lady, I have the texts.", he answered after a pause. It was hard to speak to such a being. The one who could give him his greatest desire, eternity.

"But my ring. Do you have my ring?"

"I cannot retrieve it. It has to be done by a true heir of the owner. The tome is very exact on that matter."

"Then give the books to my servant. She will prepare for the ritual."

"And my reward?"

"You will have it when I have my inheritance."

Dietrich smiled to himself as he handed the books to a wretched woman standing behind him. Finally. It had taken him ages to track down one of that family, and even establishing contact was difficult. But finally he had achieved it, and he had found something to trade. Something that this self-styled countess desired above all other things. A ring. A simple black iron ring. He knew the story, of course he knew. Every boy knew the tale of the thief who had thwarted the vampire count, leading him to his eternal death. And he knew that the ring had been lost ever since.

And he knew that such a gift would entice any of the great lords of Sylvania. Because he had always had a dream, a dream of never dying. He had thought long and hard about it, but he believed that he could deal with such a being. He had studied those bloodthirsty monsters for many years, all hidden behind his studies at the Celestial Order. He knew that he would need one with great power, to be granted power, but at the same time one whose power was not so great that he could simply be cast aside, his knowledge torn from his head. And that led him to delve ever deeper into the ways of the undead, until he found mention of a small number who would meet his needs.

And one of them was this lady in black. Sybille was her name, used throughout the ages. But that was not the name he was after. O no, that was her family name. The name that had terrified people for centuries, that had driven men into blizzards to die from exposure rather than being taken alive. A name that every child knew, and feared, even more than they would fear the elves. Von Carstein.

He talked for a while with the hideous woman, who seemingly had schooled herself in the Arts. Of course, her knowledge was far inferior to his own, and certainly her power was nothing compared to his, but a third mage would be an aid in what must be done, his last night alive. The ritual would take place on the top of the tower, culminating on the stroke of midnight, with the dark green Morrslieb in ascendance.

Everything was ready. She stood in the circle, carrying the treasures that the ritual required. His heart beat in his throat, because what he was about to do would see every witch hunter in the Empire trying to burn him at the stake. Even the circle was a hazard, sprinkled with crushed warpstone and eight lines running towards the center, and the vampire. He and the witch were standing at opposite ends from her, elevated above the proceedings.

A cold wind was starting to blow as his eyes turned towards the hardest part of all this. Eight young men and women, children almost, forced to their knees at each of the lines leading towards the center. Behind them stood silent forms, mere bones animated by the will of von Carstein. Further away stood a few more forms, dressed in various armours. He did not know why they were there, but he guessed that they were here to protect their mistress should anything happen. One of them was dressed as a knight from Bretonnia, carrying a huge sword in his hands. Besides him stood what clearly was a member of one of the great orders of the Empire, wearing gilded armour and carrying a deadly hammer. The third was another knight of the Empire, but wearing more old-fashioned armour, showing hints of rust. He carried a great furled banner, which Dietrich considered to be strange. Why carry a banner outside a battle? Finally there stood a fourth warrior, dressed as the guard of a count. One of the greatswords.

He thought about one day commanding such warriors himself as well, but not such small groups, no. One day he would have a great army of the dead to keep him safe to study, until the future held no more secrets from him than the past or present. It might involve the end of this Sybille, but that was a price that he would gladly pay once he had what he wanted. All he would need to do was to steal her ring from her.

He was shaken from his thoughts by her imperious voice: "Is everything ready? Then let us proceed?"

For hours they chanted, and the vampire drew in a mixture of warpstone and blood. Hundreds of arcane runes, of a kind that made the eyes hurt. His own throat hurt from the syllables that he spoke, when at last the time was there. After an unspoken command eight throats were slit, and blood flowed over the circle, and then inwards, towards von Carstein. She placed her open hand in the center, and the stream of blood met.

At that moment a great bolt of green lightning struck the hand, and he could not see for a few moments. But he could hear. He heard a laugh, terrifying him to the bone. Slowly his vision returned, and he could see. He saw Sybille von Carstein holding a black ring, and placing it over her pale finger. It had been done, and now she would grant him the greatest of all gifts!

But then he heard a cry. And the witch shouted: "My lady! The castle! It is gone!"

"What? Don't speak nonsense child!", he interrupted, heading over to her. She must have lost her mind to the spells. And then he looked around, in the darkness, and he could see the lights of torches and fires, which couldn't be there. There had been no light outside the central tower.


	2. 2 Arya I

**ARYA**

She withdrew into the shadows as she saw The Bloody Mummers return. They had brought more plunder, taken from the smallfolk. On one cart there was a massive black bear, and surrounding it armoured men. Lords by the look of them. But no lords in the service of the Lannisters, she knew these devices, they belonged to Karstark, Glover, Frey and many others. Her brother's men. She feared what this meant for Robb.

All this changed in an instant, as the crack of lightning could be heard and everything was momentarily illuminated in green. And then, there, right where there had been a pit before, a tower. Or rather a castle, small by the scale of Harrenhal, but not the kind of thing that would just appear from a bolt of lightning. She shook her head, that was impossible, but still, it stood there. There was only one sound coming from its direction, a laugh. Belonging to a woman.

Soon the laughter stopped, and there was only silence, except for the continual yells of surprise from the men. Vargo Hoat commanded some men to investigate, and they approached slowly and carefully. Just as they were about to touch the stone a voice rang out, from atop the battlements above the gate: "Vho are you and vhat have you done vith my castle!"

Finally Armory had gathered the few wits that he had, and he shouted: "This castle belongs to my lord. Surrender, bitch!"

That one word seemingly wasn't taken kindly to within the small castle, and the gates flung open, and a horn was sounded. But the sound was off, ghostly almost. Arya could vaguely make out gleaming white warriors march out in a formation. She looked closer and now she was actually afraid. These were no mortal men, they were only skeletons. It brought her back to the words of Old Nan, speaking about wights and white walkers.

The men closest to the gate were overrun within moments, falling to the spears of the dead. Most tried to flee, but there was no escape for the prisoners, who were still tied to each other. They quickly became a stumbling mess, although a few managed to reach for weapons and fight back.

Surprisingly some of the wights fell, and even to Arya they seemed to not be highly skilled. At this Armory shouted: "Gather, men! Let's show these Northmen what Lannister men can do!"

Some of his men charged, and they managed to hold against the skeletal warriors, taking down more than they lost themselves. Hot Pie came up from behind: "I want to escape now."

But she didn't hear, focusing on the battle instead. The Bloody Mummers were also gathering around their leader, to stand, although a fair few of them went missing. They charged into the dead, and many of them fell. Arya felt her heart beating. She had never expected to hope to see those murderers victorious. She could see another tightly formed block of skeletons march from the gate, but strangely enough they did not head to the battle, but marched off, turning to the right behind an unseen banner. "Not now, you see those over there? They're going to the gate, and we can't take them on alone."

More of the dead fell, and the Bloody Mummers retired to charge again. The Northmen were putting up a good fight, as were the Lannister men, although many had fallen. They did however outnumber the rapidly diminishing dead men.

A horn sounded again, followed by the start of a steady drum. From the gate a third formation appeared. This time led by a few armoured warriors, and strangely enough, a woman in a dress. Besides the black-dressed woman stood a fully armoured man, carrying a terrible banner. It was black as the night, depicting a black wolf howling at a red moon. Above it there was a scroll, but it was too far away to make out what it said.

When she was nearby the other formation broke into two, creating a space in its midst for her attack. The woman broke from the ranks, her place quickly taken by another skeleton, and she leapt into the fray. Arya had never seen someone move with such speed, but was even more surprised when men started falling around her, one was thrown up in the air by the force of a blow, but it was impossible to see the weapon move.

"Do not presume to stand before me!", the lady cried.

Somehow she was clearly audible above the noise of the battle, even though all other voices were drowned out. The men were backing away from her, and now it was possible to get a clearer look. She wore a black dress, which was finely ornamented, and frilly cloth woven into her red hair, in the form of black roses. There also was blood, mostly around her mouth, running from it even. Was she injured?

That seemed unlikely as she advanced again, carrying a heavy mace as though it was a mere wooden stick. Armory stood his ground, finally dressed in his plate. Everyone seemed to pause to watch this duel, and the lady smiled, coming ever closer to Arya. The mace as not held ready for a fight, as though it did not really interest her all that much. "You. Are you ze greatest of these men? Do you have ze courage to stand against me?"

She giggled, even as the knight advanced on her, cutting with his longsword at her unarmoured for. Impossibly fast she stepped aside. He tried again, and again the woman was not where his blade expected her. Lorch tried to rush her, and she moved with him. A moment later she still stood, and he. He hung, held up by one arm, and her teeth in his throat.

Arya couldn't stop looking, and for a moment met the monster's eyes. They were strange, unearthly. Yellow as those of an animal, but showing a savage intelligence, and a will that would make one shake. Arya wanted to move, to run away, but she was held in place by the eyes. The spell was broken when a man came from behind to run her through, but the bloody lady was faster. She dropped the dying Armory and stabbed her assailant without even turning around.

Seeing this Hoat did the sensible thing and shouted for his men to retreat, towards the gate and away from this accursed place. The remaining Lannister men ran to follow, but lacked the speed of the mounted men, and were overrun by the skeletons. The men of the North were dead already, unable to resist for long, and incapable of flight.

Only then did she notice that even more warriors had emerged, and another terrible sight. Gigantic wolves, larger even than Nymerya, and black as the night. They rushed after the fleeing soldiers, even as the lady simply stood there, amidst the fallen. A pair of people approached her, bearing lamps. One of them, a man, was dressed in fine blue robes. The other, a woman, wore old grey clothes, and had a haggard appearance.

Driven by her curiosity Arya snuck closer towards them, to listen to them. Both bowedtheir heads to the lady in black, who spoke: "Vhere are ve?"

"My lady, I do not know, ze sky is different, and the stars are in ze vrong places. Not even the twin moons are there.", the man answered. He talked a bit like a maester.

"And you, Luise, vhat do you see?"

"Your ladyship. I have no idea. But could it be that ve have been betrayed?", the haggard woman replied, hints of fear in her voice.

"Then find vhere ve are! Now! I vill speak to the prisoners, if there are any literates amongst them."

"And how about my reward, my lady?", the man spoke up again.

The woman's face changed, gone was the merry look, replaced by a monstrosity. A ferocity that should not be there as she sneered: "Do not presume to command me, herr Zwieling."

"My lady, I meant no offence, but ve had an agreement. You have ze ring. Now I vant vhat you promised me."

"Your sorcery has brought us here. Do you know vhere ve are? Do you know how to return?", her face returned to its normal state, but still showed hints of anger.

"No my lady, I do not. I have never read about anything like this. I vill have to find a library to study on this."

"Thank you for your honesty, herr Zwieling. I truly appreciate it."

"But the deal…"

Immediately she interrupted him. "I have altered it, pray that I do not alter it any further"

"Yes, my lady."

In the distance she could still hear fighting, the shouting of men and the clash of arms. But her attention remained on the trio in front of her. The man left, but the other woman remained: "Vhat shall ve do now?"

But before she could hear the answer she heard a squeal behind her. She remembered Hot Pie and looked back, only to see him run through by a blade glowing with white light, held by one of the armoured warriors. She looked at his helmet, and the burning red orbs that were behind the eyeslits.

And then she heard the lady again: "Gather captives, and find if there are any with learning. But spare none of those vho raised arms against me."


	3. 3 Jérôme I

**Jérôme**

Sir Jérôme, stood silent, together with the commoner, Beck, now his brother in arms. Once, many years ago he would have looked down on him, but now all such things seemed so futile. He was waiting. Always waiting. Tonight had been a release, to fight, to cut down his foes, a pleasure he had missed for years. The countess was good, but the years of peace had been hard, with only beastmen raiders to slay. These were proper men, armed and armoured. The war that he longed for.

He did not know where they were, but such matters did not concern him. He was there to serve his mistress as her guard, and one of her captains. She emerged from her chambers, changed into another dress, dressed for war in fluted black plates. If he still could he would smile. This meant that she meant to go into battle, and the countess never did such a thing without her guard by her side.

"Come, my dears, let us inspect our prisoners."

The two warriors followed the vampire, matching her rapid pace as she swept down the stairs. In the small courtyard a regiment of her skeletons was gathered, standing to attention. They were joined by a third warrior, von Lorenz, carrying the countess' standard. The gates were still open, and the fourth of the guard was there, von Greif, her champion.

As they exited the gates von greif spoke, in the same monotone voice as the others: "MY LADY, THE PRISONERS ARE READY FOR INSPECTION."

Almost a hundred men, women and even some children were lined up, with skeletons behind them. And behind those something that would truly terrify them, something that Jérôme truly looked down on. Those hideous pets, the man-eating ghouls. Filthy degenerates, but they served a purpose. And only one purpose, terror.

The prisoners looked down, avoiding the countess' attention. The fear is clear in them, he admires it. There are few who look like warriors amongst them, they had all fallen, except for the few who broke through the gates. He recalls the battle, with his sword slicing through their bodies. The corpses had been collected, to be raised to serve in her army, and the ghouls were allowed only a little of their flesh.

Standing right in front of the captives the countess spoke, in her clear voice, easily ranging towards all the gathered people. "Look at me. I am your countess. Your lives are mine, and your deaths are mine. You will serve me, with all your hearts and your minds. Kneel before your mistress!"

Even the numbed prisoners understood what this meant, and quickly fell to their knees. A few were slower. But all of them looked towards her. Suddenly she moved towards them, grabbing a boy by his chin. Jérôme did not try to guess his age, and not even what could have drawn the ire of his mistress, but he did follow her. She must be guarded.

"My my, you are a defiant little thing, aren't you?"

"Let me go!"

She lifts the boy into the air: "Be silent, we will speak later. Lutz! Take her to Luise."

One of the ghouls came forwards, it was nibbling on a head, having opened the skull from behind. It belonged to a man with a peculiarly long goatee. If he could still feel, Jérôme would have pitied him, to be taken alive by the ghouls, and specifically this one, this one was cruel. It enjoyed its prey to still be alive, and to struggle and suffer. It never made it fast. The thing kept the head in one hand, taking the boy, or girl, with the other clawed hand, careful to not scratch her.

But the countess already moved on, and he followed. She turned towards an older man: "You. Tell me, is there any scholar amongst your number?"

He wet himself, and started to mumble: "M'm'm'lady. De maester, 'e's dead."

"And are there any others? Any priests by any chance?"

"They, they're dead, all of 'em."

"That is most unfortunate, does any of you even know how to write?"

"I dunno, m'lady."

She raised her voice again: "Does any of you cretins know how to write?"

All of the prisoners looked down, in silence. "Is there no one?"

Still there was silence, and no motion in the assembled prisoners. But just before she was about to speak again, a young man spoke up: "M'lady!"

He was tall, and strongly built, with black hair and a beginning thick beard. Very muscular, he could grow into a warrior, if he had had a higher-born father, he thought. The vampire headed towards him, followed by her shadowing guards. "Yes, what is it that you want to tell your countess?"

"I will tell you, if you promise not to hurt Arya!"

"Arya? Is that a name? I do not know any by that name. Who is this Arya?"

"The one you took. "

"Oh, that girl. Very well, I will not harm her, if you give me someone with learning. Who is it?"

"Arya, m'lady, she has been tutored in a castle."

"Thank you, and you have my word, she won't be harmed. But do tell me, why are you so caring. She is not related to you. So, why do you protect her?"

"She's my friend, m'lady."

"An admirable quality indeed, to protect your friends. To be loyal. I like my servants to be loyal. Are you loyal to me?"

"Of course, m'lady."

"Do not lie to me. I see it in your eyes. You consider me a monster, you hate me. You fear me. You should fear me, yes. But do not hate me. I am not your enemy."

With that she stepped back and turned around, leaving von Greif to oversee the prisoners, and heading back into her keep.


	4. 4 Arya II

**ARYA**

After being dragged into the strange keep she had been afraid of her fate, this strange-accented lady seemed to not take kindly to being looked at in the wrong way. But other than afraid she was confused as well. She had read the text on the banner, "VON CARSTEIN", the letters were clear, but what did they mean? Those two unfamiliar words, perhaps the name of her new captor?

She had to know the name, so it could be added to her list. She had ordered the murder of Hot Pie, and many other innocents. She wondered where H'ghar is. Did he survive the slaughter? She finally knew who the third name would belong to. The monster.

The thing, Lurtz, smelt of decay. Black ichor driping from his fingers, and he kept holding that head, as though it is food. She knew whose head it was, the Goat's. She didn't resist, fearing what he will do to her if she does. Would she become another meal to those things?

She is brought to someone she had seen earlier, the haggard woman, who must be Luise. She sat in a small room, lit by a pair of candles and filled with pieces of bones and strange bottles. Lutz growled at her: "Ze miztrez sent zis one."

It was almost impossible to understand what he said, but after pushing her in the creature left, and the woman stoop up and walked towards her. She surprised her by speaking up: "Who are you?"

The gaunt-faced woman looked at her and answered in a hoarse voice: "That does not matter. Just answer my questions. Vhat is your name?"

"Nymeria, my lady"

"I'm no lady, only ze countess is. Vhat is your family name?"

"I don't have one, I'm only a smallfolk."

"Have you ever had any dreams, strange things happening around you, things that you wanted, but that would be impossible?"

Arya thought for a few moments when they were interrupted by a bat flying into the room, landing next to her interrogator, holding a paper in its mouth. The woman took it, and slowly read, as though reading was difficult. "Ze countess vants to see you."

She just looked around, while the woman seemed to be glad that the interview is over. Arya wondered what was in all those bottles, but she had the feeling that they were meant for dark magic. "Come, I will take you to her, boy."

Arya did not protest as she was led through the castle. This time she got a better look. The walls were decorated with tapestries. The tapestries showed a wide variety of scenes, skillfully woven into them. In between these scenes there were coats of arms, all of which showed variations on wolves, or parts of wolves.

She was led top what she assumed to be the great hall. It was high, extremely high. But there were few windows, only one, on the far side. A towering stained glass window, showing what seemed to be a white-haired lady dressed in red. Below that again those words: "VON CARSTEIN"

Chandeliers brimming with candles hung from the ceiling. There must have been hundreds to illuminate the hall, a luxury that was not present at Winterfell. Under the window she saw the bloody lady, this countess, whatever that meant. She was flanked by the same armoured warriors who had accompanied the monster earlier. It was strange that they were still in armour, most knights did not wear full armour all the time, and especially not full helmets.

She looked back when she heard the tall doors close, there was no one there to close them, and the haggard one had left. At the walls there were paintings, but they were different from the usual ones, far more realistic, and larger. Each of them showed the same person, the bloody lady, but each time in a different dress, a different style even. But each time the same face, the same eyes.

"You may approach"

The lady's voice carried through the hall with ease, and with it came a command that was almost impossible to refuse. And Arya didn't want to refuse, she longed to know more about what had happened. And who these people were. She walked towards the enthroned lady, who swirled a red wine in the finest glass she had ever seen.

"Ah, our young guest. Please, tell me, vhat is your name?"

"Nymeria"

"Do not lie to me girl, I see it when you lie.", there was anger rising in her voice, and evil in those eyes.

"It is Arya, my lady."

"Very good, I knew that we would go far. And what is your family? And remember, don't lie, it makes me angry."

"Stark, my lady."

"Well, well, now that we have been introduced, I want you to stay here with me, and help me with a few minute matters."

A pair of skeletons carried a table, to be placed between the bloody lady and Arya. On the table there were sheets of parchment, and a pen with ink. While it was being carried there Ara gathered the courage to ask: "But who are you?"

"I am Sybille von Carstein, countess of Sylvania, grand duchess of Talabecland, baroness of Waldenhof, lady of Halberstadt. Is your family of any significance?"

Arya hesitated, the woman did not know house Stark, did she know anything at all? "It is a noble house"

"Truly? And which lands does your family control?"

"The North, my lady."

"The North? And where would that be. Wait, draw me a map of wherever we are, and then show me the North. You know the shape of this world right?"

Arya started drawing a very rough shape of Westeros, there might be mistakes, but she assumed that the lady wouldn't notice. Or care for that matter. She told her about the realms, and the lady, or countess, asked a lot of questions. She sent another bat out, with a small note. She couldn't find what it said, but they must have been instructions.

After some time the lady had order a chair for her, saying that a lady of noble blood should not be kept standing. She looked at the map, which gave Arya at least some relief. Her eyes almost hurt to look at. "But tell me, Arya, vhat brings a girl like you to be dressed as a peasant, and smelling like one?"

She was silent for a few moments, looking down, towards her feet. All the memories came back again, Winterfell, Mycah, Syrio, Yoren, and of course, her father. It brought tears to her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't vant to. I understand pain.", she sounded friendly, supportive, and Arya couldn't help feeling better.

In a small voice she explained: "I came to King's Landing with my father."

She let a long pause fall, remembering how it had been. Sybille placed an armoured hand on her small hand. "Vhat happened there?"

"On our way there Joffrey hurt Mycah, and Nymeria fought him off. And then Joffrey sent the Hound to kill Mycah, and Sansa didn't say anything. And then they wanted to kill Nymeria, but she ran away."

The countess looked comforting, understanding, and she nodded. Despite the armour she looked friendly. "And Sansa, she is your sister, right? She betrayed you?"

"Yes. For Joffrey. I hate him!"

"Vho is this Joffrey exactly?"

"He's the king.", she answered, sullenly.

"I promise you that he von't be king forever. But vhat else happened?", so friendly, so trustworthy, Arya just had to continue.

"And then the old king died, and the queen arrested my father, and killed everyone. Syrio fought them so I could escape. I saw them do it. Joffrey ordered my father to be executed. They cut off his head!"

"That is horrible, it must have been so terrible for you to see such a thing happen. I know how it is to lose those you love."

"I left the city with Yoren, to go home. But we were attacked by Ser Armory, he killed most of us, and brought us here."

"And this Ser Armory, vhere is he now?"

That brought a slight smile to her sad face: "You killed him."

"Did I? Vhich one vas he?", Sybille took a sip from her wine, it was so red. Unlike wine.

"You bit him."

"Oh, the little piggy. He didn't taste very nice."

Now she knew it, she wasn't drinking wine, it looked more like blood, and smelled like it too. "What are you?!"

"Nothing to be vorried about, Arya, I vill not harm you. But it is late, and you should go to sleep."

Without any kind of order being given a girl appears, not a skeleton, not even very pale, although she has a hideous face and is slightly hunched. She bows: "My lady?"

"Take my guest to one of the rooms. See to it that she is washed and fed."


	5. 5 Dietrich II

**DIETRICH**

It was wrong, completely wrong. He kept looking at the sky, trying to find something familiar. And to make things worse, Azyr, the celestial wind, was nearly completely absent. Without it he felt naked, weak. He knew how to bend and twist Dhar, but it remained a frightening force, one of darkness, leading to horrible fates without protection. He craved protection, such as immortality. He needed it, with eternity he would become the greatest mage that ever was, and all would kneel before him. But doubt struck. A thought slithered through his mind, slowly overcoming all hopes and expectations. The vampire had cheated him, she did not grant his reward, and he feared that she never would. She would use him, like the dark forces of the many stories that he had been told as a child. She would use ever ounce of his strength, his power, and then she would let him die.

He needed to survive, to show that she would need him. That she could still use him, if only he was given time. He knew a way, a path. As clear as if it had been written in the starts. He still had his instruments, moved to the central keep at his arrival, but what use were charts of stars that were not here, calculations based on another sky? He knew that he could retake Azyr, but it would take years of hard work, he had to know these alien skies.

For that reason he had taken up position on the top of the tower, where the vampire had led the ritual to grant herself that ring. He was drawing diagrams, not yet using his telescope, he needed a simple overview first. He looked, but was disturbed. He looked down, and saw a bat landing on his telescope. It carried a small note, it must have been some affection of the vampire. He sighed, hating these dramatics. It was a simple summons, and his heart beat with hope. Perhaps she would keep her word after all?

Heading down the tower and towards the great hall he saw one of the few servants that had come with them walk with a boy. He had probably fed the countess, but he didn't feel sorry, not for these peasants who had torn immortality away from him.

When he entered the great hall he bowed, seeing the vampire seated at the other end, at the head of a small table, and a chair in front of it. He relaxed, this meant that she would treat him as an equal, an important step towards his goals. "My lady, you summoned me?"

"Yes, come here. There are important matters to discuss."

His heart beat louder in excitement, as he moved to sit down. "Herr Zwieling, I have interrogated several locals, and there are a few things that I want you to confirm. I have been presented with this rough map of these lands, and I want you to use your powers to see if this map is roughly correct. And if possible, to tell me where we could find the nearest settlements, it is far from complete as you can clearly see."

He bowed his head: "I am very sorry, my lady, but Azyr has abandoned me. I catch only small sparks, but there are so few. I see Dhar, it pervades this place, but the Celestial Wind is not here. Not even on the top of the highest towers. I do not see the other winds blowing either, only Dhar, clogging up everything. Through my telescopes I have searched, but Azyr was not there, not even far from these walls."

"Nothing at all? That is most unfortunate. I truly hope that you will find it back soon. A wizard without his wind is like a river without water, nothing.", her voice remained friendly, but he understood the threat.

"My lady, I assure you that I am doing my utmost, I am cataloguing these heavens, but it would be very helpful if there were any tomes on such matters in this place."

"Unfortunately no such tomes have been uncovered yet. But tell me, how long do you think that it will take you to gain sufficient knowledge to find Azyr?"

He swallowed, trying to hide his discomfort from those yellow eyes: "If all goes well, two months my lady."

"Very well. And how are your studies in the True Art?"

"They are progressing at a steady pace, my lady. I have mastered the First Invocation, and applied it on a dog. I believe that I will soon be able to extend the power, to exercise on human bodies, and to eventually aid you in your conquests. But, ehm, if I were to receive your gift, my abilities would increase a hundred-fold, and I could raise an army to serve you."

"I know, herr Zwieling. I know that all too well. But the fighting has left me exhausted, and granting blood in the same night as one has shed it sometimes leads to complications. The blood is not spread easily, despite what some tales say. It is highly complex, and if mistakes are made, well, you have heard of the creatures that haunt the darkest nights. But tomorrow night my strength will be returned, and I will introduce you to the power of the blood. It has long been my desire to have a companion for the centuries, and it always is a great pleasure to speak to someone as learned as you are. Tomorrow, on the mystic tower, high above the ground, we will combine Dhar and blood to grant rebirth and eternity."


	6. 6 Arya III

**ARYA**

She awoke late in the day, feeling much better. Before she would never have guessed how good it was to sleep in a bed again. To be clean was an almost more alien feeling, and even though she would never admit it, it was nice. She slipped out from under the sheets, eager to explore her new surroundings. It looked like there were no windows in the room, but there was a tiny sliver of silver light piercing a heavy curtain.

She pulled it open and looked out, the light was blinding, but after a few moments she could see. She saw people crawling over the closest buildings, when she looked closer she could see what they were doing. They were tearing them down. She could recognize some of them, she saw terrible wounds on them, bloody, great gashes of flesh missing. It shocks her even more than it did the day before. These people are really dead. And that means that it all was real.

She heard soft steps behind her, softer than most people walked. She turned, and she saw the servant girl who had helped her yesterday. She had tried talking to her, but it was impossible to understand what she said, she had a far too heavy accent, so Arya had given up on finding out anything from her. The girl offered her a platter, filled with various foods.

Only then did she realize how hungry she was, and ate very fast, more like an animal than like a lady, with her hands. There were strange-tasting sausages, and oddly-formed little pieces of bread. They were round, with a swirling five-pointed star in them. But they were really nice. There were slices of meat between their two halves, which had a slightly familiar taste. They rested on impossibly thin plates. There was a golden pitcher and a crystal clear glass containing water.

After eating all of it she looked up again, at the servant. The girl bowed, not once meeting Arya's eyes. But she dared to say something at last: "M'la'y, y'r cloth?"

Arya found it hard to comprehend what she was saying, but when the girl left she followed her. She led her to another room, adjacent to the one she had been sleeping in. It was decorated again with tapestries, and the carpets on the floor were soft to her bare feet. It was the same room where she had bathed in the middle of the night, and now she saw several articles of clothing gathered. They were clearly meant for her.

The girl left het behind, and Arya looked over the clothes. Somehow they were roughly her size, and all of them were of very high quality. There was a dress that would make Sansa far too happy, frilly and blue. She decided against that one, it would be impossible to run in it. There was an outfit in red and yellow, with strange double sleeves, which she imagined to make anyone who would wear them look like an insane jester. And those strange swollen pieces for the arms and legs were stranger even than what the bloody mummers had worn. And it would be impossible to remain unseen in such clothes. There were several more far too pretty dresses, and finally there was something to her own tastes, if only a little. A simple black tunic, clearly meant for boys. To be worn over black leggings.

But despite all this wealth there were no mirrors. Not even a small hand-mirror. Not that Arya cared, her appearance was not something that worried her very much, despite what her sister and mother used to say to her. Thinking about them hurt, she missed them, even Sansa. But she could feel how they fitted, the ensemble was a little too large for her, but it fitted roughly, and the black clothes would make it easy to hide.

And hide she would. The curious Arya longed to know more about her new surroundings. And then it struck her. Her friends. Where were they? She had not seen them crawling over the buildings, she had not seen anyone alive at work. Had they been killed after she had been taken away? She had to find out.

When she left the bathroom the girl was gone, along with the riches on which her meal had been served. Quickly Arya slipped into the hallways. They were as she recalled, covered with rich tapestries, but empty. Unlike Winterfell and most other castles, she didn't see anyone.

At the central staircase there still was no one, and she could head down, she wanted to be outside, to find out if her friends were still alive. The gates were closed, and she had to go back, trying to find another way out. She stalked through the abandoned lower floor, until she saw figures in the distance. Standing as still as statues, four skeletal warriors. Were they wights? Like Old Nan liked to frighten Rickon with? They seemed to not notice her, but still she hid behind a corner. When she peeked again she saw that they were guarding a door.

She headed back again, up the stairs. Finally she saw a living person, another young woman, busy cleaning the floors. She didn't notice Arya as she passes behind her. Most doors in the keep were locked, and the few that opened were well-furnished, but containing nothing of particular interest. Only furniture, well-cleaned and maintained, but empty.

Finally she reached the top of the tower, which was openly accessible. It is flat, and surrounded by carved figures. There was coagulated blood there, forming an eight-pointed star. At one of the edges stood a large looking glass, but there was no one near it. Another abandoned place in an almost abandoned castle.

She headed to the bulwark, and could look down. It was in the afternoon already, and she could hear the sounds of Harrenhal. Including one sound that finally gave her some comfort, the hammering of iron. Gendry would still be alive. She hoped so.

But it was clear that there was no way to leave this castle behind, the outer gate was locked as well, and she could see guards standing all over the walls. All of them skeletal, all of them standing perfectly still.

And then she heard it, sounds, coming from below. Footsteps. She hid between the wings and the body of a carved dragon, she would be impossible to see. She didn't want anyone to find out about her expedition, and what she might have seen. And she wanted to know what would happen here.

It was the haggard woman, Luise. She was followed by several skeletal figures. All the of them carrying strange vases and other implements. The woman started by setting several of them to the task of cleaning the tower top, removing every speck of dirt and drop of old blood.

Arya remained hidden from them, even if they came within only a few feet of her during all this work. And then Luise started drawing strange shapes, mysterious runes in liquids from the vases. She constantly looked at papers she had with her, they were far from ancient, perfectly white, and even from the distance Arya could see diagrams, and notes.

Finally the sun was starting to set, and Arya was still in her place, observing. She felt something, deep inside her. Like how she had felt with her dire wolf. A connection. Not to anyone, but to the surroundings. She could see darkness coagulating in the corners of her eyes, but it was no ordinary darkness. It was seeping, flowing, being real. When she blinked it was gone, but after some time she would see it again.

Finally Luise stopped the drawing, and looked at all the many shapes, even while the darkness was setting in. But Arya couldn't see if it was getting truly dark, or if it was the strange, flowing darkness. She was getting a little crampy, but this seemed to be something secret, that she wasn't supposed to see. Ten more skeletons appeared, each of them carrying a lamp, shedding an eerie green light, surrounding the diagrams.

And then, the sun went down. It became darker and darker. And finally someone else approached. First Arya saw a blue hat, topped with black, triangular, with a great gem set into it. And then the face, it was Sybille, with a smile. It was different from the kind smiles she had seen the previous night. This was an evil smile, born of a true darkness.

She wore another dress, more revealing. The shoulders were bare, and showed more of the too pale skin, more like that of a corpse than that of a human being. And for the first time she could see her hands, thin-fingered, pale and long-nailed. She wore one ring, which was at odds with everything else she wore. It was simple, dark iron. In one hand she carried a page, ancient parchment, unreadable. In the other a knife, made from green-glowing stone.

It was the first time that she saw her alone, not followed by those armoured warriors. When she arrived Luise bowed, and then hurriedly departed, followed by all the skeletons, who left their green-shining lights. Finally only the countess stood there, placing three crystals around herself. For a moment Arya thought that she looked at her, but she was ignored.

After some moments another arrived, the man. He looked cleaner than he had before, and happy, very happy. Sybille's face had changed, she looked friendly again, and she smiled at the man: "Ah, Dietrich, are you ready?"

He beamed: "I am my lady, I want to thank you again for this."

"Come here, but first let me tell you a few things. It is not some simple affair, and everything has to be done correctly. Mistakes have been made, you will have heard the stories. When there is a mistake, one might come out malformed or mad. So, do exactly as I tell you."

"Yes my lady."

"Then kneel down here, as you can see, great magical power is needed for this, one does not conquer death with petty tricks."

He fell to his knees, and she removed his collar. "The secret of course is in the blood. Now, be completely silent, it will hurt, but I promise you, it will be completely worth it. You will feel a kind of power that you couldn't imagine, and don't fear, don't recoil. Death is terrible to confront, but my will shall break it."

He sat perfectly still as the lady stood in front of him. Dark clouds gathered to block out the moon, and Arya heard the crack of lighting in the background. It was strange, mere moments ago the sky had been clear. Soon there was no more light, except the eerie green light from the lanterns, and the occasional flash of lightning. Sybille started to intone a spell in a language sounding unlike any other: "R'n shatp ka mi no nif mi Xort'nutr  
vind hrok kai ahawii  
mek wi iiikwi xrok  
xa'kwi wesrakwi baikwi smikwi  
ininii nik bed snetor  
swabii tew imisn  
swabii netnetik imisn  
tes pwy dwe dedinii  
abw pwy dwe irinii  
ne redy nii  
hrantet ink wad pwy  
iry xoxy ne ra  
redy ne imywoaxt  
waiii wadisn"

She suddenly moved the stone blade, and slit his throat. Blood spewed out. But it did not fall to the ground, instead it moved in the air, swirling. Arya could see more of the flowing darkness rise up, clotting around everything. Her voice became much louder, sounding more like a storm than like a woman: "wad kaii mi sen dfa kaii mi sen  
fa me mexat  
qa maat re fend nra  
me hrew pwy  
me nehmitwe tpii remn im  
nin ink is irt maat mesar sdemw  
nin ink is ka ne xryt  
ne pritw re xeraw im"

When she stopped the three crystals turned to dust, and so did the man's body. His blood was still flowing over the diagrams, and then the woman thrust the blade to the sky, and it was struck by lightning. All ten of the lanterns died, and the blade disappeared. But there was a new source of illumination, her eyes. They shone with malignant light.

And then she waved her hands to her sides, and the blood spread out, going in all directions from the top of the tower, followed by the flowing darkness.

With that final act there was a sudden silence, the light disappeared from her eyes, and she even seemed to stumble for a moment. She however still held on to the ancient parchment, even though the ritual blade was gone. After a few tense moments she spoke:

"My will be done.", and she fell to her knees, and her yellow eyes closed.


	7. 7 Catelyn I

**CATELYN**

She looked into the open box, at the bones, her Ned. Her poor, poor Ned. With silver wire keeping his skull to the rest of the skeleton. How she longed for him to still have his flesh, to look into those beautiful eyes, to rest against that muscular chest. But no, those were all gone, and this was what remained. Bones. Only bones. They would never stir again, never would kind words pass between those lips. Never again would she feel him besides her. In a way it was real now, more real even than she already knew it to be. All that was left of her big, strong Ned.

Now that she was finally alone she cried. She missed him, now more than ever before. Now it was final. He was dead. But this was not him. These bones could be from anyone, in death they all were the same. If only she could speak to him. To hear his voice. One last time. She whispered: "Oh Ned, I miss you. I want you back by my side. I need you."

Her tears fell over the bones, and she couldn't stop herself. Her poor Ned. And not just Ned. But Sansa and Arya, they were held by that terrible Cersei, who would take them away as she had taken away her Ned. Every night she prayed for their safety, for them to be returned. To have her daughters back, to be done with this war, and to return with them and Robb to her home for these last years. Her true home now, Winterfel. To little Rickon and to Bran. She had been so afraid when she heard about the attempted escape. If the Kingslayer had been harmed, her children would have been killed in revenge. And if he had escaped, nothing kept Sansa and Arya safe from the cruel queen's attentions anymore.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a cold wind entering the room. That shouldn't have happened, the windows were shut and it still was summer. But this wind was as cold as the summer snows in Winterfell. She looked up, and heard something else. From the table. Crackling like a flame. She looked back. And saw the most amazing thing. Lights were burning in the empty sockets. And then it started to move. Slowly she saw him grasp the longsword and turn around.

Catelyn could hardly move, paralysed by shock and terror. She must have been dreaming. This couldn't happen. This wasn't real. The dead do not walk, not in the real world. Only in old tales told to little children. It was a myth, it simply couldn't be true.

But it was real, she saw it with her own eyes. And she stepped backwards, away from the moving skeleton. She heard screams, coming from outside, and she herself joined in the choir. Shouting as loudly as she could.

Ned stepped towards her, sword in his dead hands. He held it like she had seen the men holding them in the practice yards, and how she had seen them hold it in this terrible war. There was a fire burning in the skull, she could see it in his eyes. Red, as she imagined the fires of the seven hells. She screamed even louder, and the door was thrown open. Ned turned around to face whoever it was that came in, and he cut with the sword. She heard a cry of pain and saw a man fall, Utherydes, the old steward. He was still alive, but Ned advanced on him, his sword ready to kill. No, calling him Ned was wrong. This was not Ned. He would never do such a thing. He always protected her, kept her safe. He never struck others like this.

Catelyn did something she had never expected herself to do. She took the heavy copper chandelier and swung it with all her desperate strength. It connected with the skull and shattered it. With that, the skeleton fell to the ground, the bones falling into a heap. Whatever had animated it was gone.

She knelt down by the wounded man's side, crying for help. This must have been some trick by the Lannisters. She had seen dark forces at work with Stannis, and now Cersei must have done something similar. Or that imp did, doubtlessly expecting Robb to receive the body with her, and then it would have killed them all. That must have been it. The imp had sent the body, and people said many things about dwarfs. Tyrion Lannister must have been behind this, this scheme to kill her and her eldest son. He couldn't be trusted. Never. He had cheated in the Eyrie, maybe even through dark magic.

She hated them, and was mortally afraid. What were they going to do to her children?


	8. 8 Arya IV

**ARYA**

Sybille was still on her knees when Arya decided to make her escape. But sitting in the same uncomfortable place for hours had its effects. When she was ready to move from the site of this dreadful ceremony the countess opened her eyes again.

"Come here, child.", she spoke, with a much weaker voice than the night before. But her eyes bored right into Arya's. They showed that the great will was still there, and she had to obey.

She approached the woman. She looked thin, much thinner than mere moments ago. The skin was stretched over bones which were almost visible, and her mouth. This was the first time that Arya got to see it. The lips had withdrawn, showing a pair of inhuman teeth, fangs, more like those of a wolf than of a woman.

Slowly the countess rose back to her feet, swaying lightly. No longer in perfect control of her body. "Arya. I vant you to go down and to tell Luise that I require nourishment. She vill be vaiting down ze stairs. Can you do that for me?"

She seemed friendly, but still Arya doubted. She had just killed that man, as a part of some dark spell. But now she got to see the parchment, there were strange signs on it, more like drawings than letters. And they were in red. "What was that?"

"The conquest of death. I vill explain it later, but now go to Luise."

Wondering what this meant Arya opened the heavy hatch, and walked down the stairs. There was light there, and Luise sat waiting, obviously surprised to see Arya. "How is ze countess?"

"She says that she wants nourishment."

And Luise simply stood up from her stool, and went up the stairs, past her. She was followed by two of the skeletons, holding a man between them. She knew that man. She hated him. It was the Tickler. Filled with curiosity she followed them, and she saw the witch bringing the man to her mistress. "My lady?"

The skeletons forced the Tickler to the ground, he tried to resist, but they were stronger. And Sybille bowed forwards, sinking those fangs into his throat. He went paler and paler, and his struggles grew weaker. But no blood flowed from the mouth of the countess, and she looked to be swallowing rapidly.

After mere moments she was done, and she looked different. Her body was as Arya had first seen it, and she looked strong. She rose to her feet, and licked her lips, a few drops of blood ran down, beyond her tongue's reach, and the lady produced a white cloth, to remove it.

"Did it, did it vork, my lady?"

"Yes. My armies are gathering. Open the gates, they shall assemble here."

"But, you vere going to turn Dietrich?", she sounded surprised.

"He vas a traitor, and I used him to fuel the spell. His soul is burned, and there is little in the vorld more powerful than the soul of a vizard."

"Vhich spell, my lady?", now she sounded curious, very curious even.

"You vill see, Luise, you vill see vhen my armies come. And now I believe that you have things to attend to? Ze effects of ze vizard?"

"Yes my lady.", she left, leaving only the silent skeletons, Arya and the countess on the top of the tower, along with the empty clothes, and of course the dead enemy.

She looked right at Arya: "Now, vill you join me?"

She walked down the stairs, where the two armoured warriors took up their places behind her. "What did you do?"

"Like I said, I showed ze power of ze blood."

"Why do you let me watch?"

"You are of noble blood. And to me that has a meaning. But I vant to ask you something. Vhat did you see?"

"I saw you, speaking that strange tongue, and killing that man. And I saw the blood fly, and flowing darkness."

"You saw it? You saw ze darkness?"

"Yes.", she answered, wondering what it meant.

"Then I vas correct in keeping you here. You have talents, have you ever done something that should be impossible?"

She thought for a few moments: "When practicing with Syrio, and he blindfolded me, I saw from the eyes of a cat."

"Truly? And anything else?"

"Sometimes I dream of being in the head of my wolf, it is so real,"

"It may very vell be real. I see it in ze air around you. There is a power in you, one that I know all too vell."

"What kind of power?"

"Sorcery, magic, vitchcraft, however you choose to call it. It is there, in your blood."

"Is that why you drink blood?"

Sybille answered thoughtfully: "In a vay, it nourishes. But tell me, Arya, vhat do you vant to be?"

"I want to be a warrior! I want to stand up to my enemies, and I want to defend my friends!", those were her ambitions, they always had been.

"And how do you feel about revenge?"

"I want to kill those who hurt me.", she answered, fury in her voice.

"Have you ever killed?"

"Yes"

"Excellent. Vould you kill again, for me?"

"I'm not a murderer! I would only kill those who deserve it."

"Very vell said, but you vould need to be schooled. You vill come vith me vhen ve march, one of my knights vill teach you. And remain vith Louise, she vill stay in safety. And she shall teach you the Arts. I vant you to be vell-educated."

Suddenly Arya was starting to feel suspicious: "Why? I will go back to my family."

She pauses, feeling a sadness rising in her heart: "And they will want me to be a proper lady. To marry some lord of their choosing."

Sybille turned around, lowering herself to look her directly in the eyes."Do they vant that for you? To be a lord's lady? Nothing but a mare to breed children? Locked away from the vorld? Or do you vant to see the vorld, fight those vho stand against you, to cut them down? To choose vhat you do, instead of having someone choose for you? Think about these things, and choose visely. I am von Carstein, and I can give you everything, if you serve me."

"Can I be a warrior?", she asks, feeling her sadness leave.

"More than a mere varrior, you vould be a great champion, bringing low any foe. Vill you serve me, vith all your heart?"

"Yes."


	9. 9 Catelyn II

**CATELYN**

The past days had been filled with strange occurrences. After Ned's body had risen up, which she had first thought to be a Lannister trick, more dead had stirred. First there were the bodies of those foul men that the Imp had sent, hanging from the battlements they had started to move, at the same time as her sweet Ned did. And others did the same, further away. From throughout the Riverlands Riverrun had received ravens bearing the same tidings. Graves had burst open, the dead crawling from them. They flocked together, all of them moving in one direction. Some of them did attack, others moved in peace. One such message had come from Lord Bolton at Lord Harroway's Town. He had seen thousands cross the Ruby Ford while his men had stayed in their camp, avoiding the dead. But the late lord Frey had also sent such a message, claiming that they had fought off a band of them at the Twins, which had tried to force a crossing to the south. But without any coordination. This news had brought a smile to her dying father's lips, he had expected and hoped that Walder Frey had joined the dead already.

And then the refugees had started coming, flooding towards Riverrun and perceived safety. In their thousands they came, more even than had fled from the Mountain's depredations. Edmure had insisted on sending for Robb's aid, and despite Catelyn's protests, he had sent ravens to the Golden Tooth, hoping for riders to find him soon. He had also allowed the thousands of refugees into Riverrun, and withdrawn his forces from the Red Fork. She knew that her brother was not a genius, but at least he cared for his people. He had also called lord Bolton back, so they could combine their forces against the walking dead. These wights.

The day was still young, and she was sitting with her father when Edmure entered and knelt down next to her, besides the dying man: "Father. An army comes marching from the east."

"Brynden, they must be our bannermen, coming to stand with us in this war."

She whispered into his ear: "He doesn't know who we are anymore, he lives in the past. Let us go and talk outside."

Brother and sister rose together, he from his knees, she from the bedside chair.

"Which army is this?"

"The Lannisters, they are approaching the bridge. I will sally our men, and will have to stop his crossing. To protect Robb's rear."

An hour later an army was gathered below Riverrun's walls, thousands of men, the might of the riverlords. On the other side the long column of Tywin's men approached, and a few horsemen raced ahead of them. They made for the army, and soon thereafter a messenger came to Catelyn, who was watching from the walls. The man, one of the many Frey squires, asked her to join her brother.

Together with Edmure, lord Mallister and lord Vance she rode towards the bridge, where another group of riders appeared, both parties accompanied by a flag of truce. They were led by a man in crimson armour with a golden cloak. Next to him rode a man dressed in dark grey plate, wearing a pink cloak. They were followed by a bronze-cloaked knight and one armoured in silver. Behind those two was a final knight, carrying the banner of truce. He is a large man. At first Catelyn thought that it was the Mountain, but he was far too short to be that monster.

The devices on the waistcoats maked it easy to identify them. The crimson man must be Tywin Lannister himself, attended by several of his knights. But the grey-armoured one was a true surprise. Catelyn knew that armour, it was not the armour of a lord of the Westerlands, or even a turncoat Riverlord. It was the armour of a lord of the North. Her mind raced, had lord Bolton's force met in battle with the Lannisters and suffered defeat and capture? That was unlikely, a captive did not usually keep his weapons. Perhaps he had fallen, and his armour taken by another, and this was meant to intimidate them?

When they came closer it became clear that this was also not the case. She knew that face all too well, only the Leech-Lord could look like that. The two parties met in the middle of the bridge, and Edmure was the first to speak: "What do you want?"

This surprised all those who were present, except for Catelyn, who had known her brother for many years. Inwardly she sighed, he always had to show his lack of intelligence at the worst possible moments.

"My lady", Tywin bowed his head in respect.

"We want to cross this bridge, and we will cross this bridge, with our armies. And we want to make a truce. Lord Bolton will describe the reasons for this.", the old lion answered, calmly, as if lecturing a child, which Edmure in some ways was.

"My lady, my lords. Five days ago my scouts reported large forces marching towards my camp. I called the men to arms and took up a defensive position. I saw them myself soon thereafter, marching under stormclouds. Thousands upon thousands, gathered in perfectly formed regiments. There was no waiting. They arrived arrayed for battle, although they had marched throughout the night. They were the dead we had seen the days before. The men lost heart, but they stood, obeying my commands. A few cowards tried to flee, but they were taken care of."

For a moment he seemed to hesitate. "And then they were upon us. In deep formations the endless infantry crashed into mine. I couldn't lead the horse to their flanks, they were arrayed in a too wide formation. It was a huge army, larger than any I have ever seen. The men could fight them off, although I had to order a slow retreat, to avoid being outflanked. The battle was lost, but I hoped to retreat to the Ruby Ford before we were destroyed, our men were easily a match for the dead. But something horrible happened. Behind us a whole army came, right from the ground, surrounding us. The foot was faltering and I knew that I had to use the horse. There were no weak spots in their lines, but I led all the horse into a charge, to break out of the encirclement. We managed to force a breakthrough, with terrible casualties. We were pursued by several large bands of wights, and had to quit the field. After two days we encountered lord Lannister's forces, and we surrendered, telling them our tale."

Edmure lost some of the colour in his face, and Catelyn understood why. Lord Bolton was not a coward, but still she asked: "How many of you survived?"

"Sixty-seven horsemen, my lady."

Now the scope of the disaster sunk in. There had been thousands in his army, and thousands more footmen. All of them dead.

"My scouts found the dead host marching towards my position, and I decided to march. My army alone is not strong enough to stand against this force, and yours also lacks this strength. But with a combined force, in a good defensive position, we will have a good chance.", Tywin spoke, still measured.

"And why would I want to ally with someone who ravaged my lands, murdered and raped my people and stole their possessions?", Catelyn resolved to make sure that she would do the rest of the negotiations.

"What my brother means to say is, how can we ally our forces while in the midst of this war?"

"We are at war, but with men we can settle. Not with the dead, they only want us to join them. I propose a truce, a treaty will require the permission of your son, and my grandson."

"How would you fill in this truce?"

"I propose an exchange of our prisoners, along with a temporary alliance, standing together against the wights. I will call on my bannermen to join me here, and you will call yours. I will also send a raven to King's Landing, instructing my son to release your daughters, although they will have to stay in the city until they can be safely retrieved."

"We agree to your terms."


	10. 10 Arya V

**ARYA**

Finally she felt alive. It was in the early afternoon and the countess had ordered her servants to put up tents by the side of the road while she rested. The columns of the dead marched past on both sides, parting for the tents, creating a small clearing around them. Strangely enough those were the only moments that she sun got through. Arya however was wide awake. She wore mail armour, covered with a few steel plates. Armour was new to her, but her new teacher insisted on it. He had been assigned to her by Sybille, and she said that this knight was a great warrior, a champion belonging to what she called a knightly order, the Knights Panther.

Now he did not use his strangely glowing blade, but instead used a blunted training sword, holding it in one hand, the other carrying a solid steel shield. He motioned to Arya, and she tried again, to find an opening, to reach the weak spots in the armour with her new sword. It was finely made, given to her after the battle of only a few days ago. Arya had watched it with the countess, a few thousand men surrounded and ground down. Sybille didn't even find it necessary to charge into the battle, although she had used strange magic to call more of the dead from the ground behind the other army. In the aftermath there were only a few prisoners, from the horsemen who had tried to escape. Those knights had been returned to Harrenhal, where a small force remained, along with that witch, Luise.

By now she was almost used to the smell of decay that came from parts of the army, and she stabbed at Von Greif, as she learned the knight's name to be. He blocked her strike with his shield, but she had expected that to happen, and quickly rebounded, thrusting again, from up close. Steel rang against steel as he moved so the plate was covering the former opening, and he struck back at her, throwing her back with the force of the blow, and the sword fell from her hand.

"DO NOT EXPOSE YOURSELF", he said, completely monotonous. Sometimes she wondered what would be hiding below his helmet, if there was anything at all.

"BE VARY OF MY ARMS, ZE SHIELD IS AS MUCH OF A VEAPON AS ZE SWORD."

She got back up, again running at the knight. At the last moment she hopped to the left, away from his shield, and stabbed at the armpit. The sword touched the weaker armour, even as her sword was knocked aside a few moments later.

She kept practicing, only pausing when she was too tired to move herself. During one such break dark clouds gathered in the clear sky, and Sybille emerged. "Come."

One word only, and immediately Von Greif exchanged his practice weapons for the tools of war, and mounted up on his skeletal steed, to ride with the countess. Arya got onto one of the horses taken from her, and she galloped besides the countess, to the head of the column.

Once they reached it she saw the army vanning out already, ahead of them, at a piece of the road which passed between a cliff and a small lake, an army was drawn up. It seemed small, far smaller than the last army they had fought. Arya took the Myrish eyeglass she had been given, and looked. And then she saw him: "The Mountain"

"Vhat did you say?"

"That is the Mountain that Rides. He is a murderer, a rapist and a monster. They call him that because he is so huge."

"Ah, I already thought that I saw someone closer in size to an ogre than a man in their ranks. This Mountain that Rides, do you know more about him?"

"He is one of the deadliest knights of the realm. And he is evil."

"Then ve should do something about him, vouldn't you agree?", she said, as the army around her stated to advance. This time she however did not stay back to watch, she dismounted.

"Herr von Greif, vould you be as kind as to keep ze young lady safe?", she walked with her army, accompanied by a pair of the armoured warriors, one of them carrying a huge sword, the other the banner. Not having to think twice Arya followed the countess, flanked by the Knight Panther.

The opposing force only stood there, waiting, while the dead marched towards them. Sybille was saying strange, meaningless words and Arya could see the swirling, flowing blackness gather again, almost obscuring the countess. It changed, disappearing into her before shards of blackness leapt from her eyes. Some archers had been loosing arrows, and now they fell, their skin and flesh dropping off their bodies.

And then the lines clashed, the disciplined skeletal warriors and the Mountain's ill-disciplined but deadly men. He himself also burst into the fight, cutting down the undead, crushing their bones with his gigantic sword. A little later Sybille entered the fray, cutting a swath through her enemies, clearly fighting a way towards the Mountain.

She couldn't simply watch anymore and Arya dismounted, drawing her new sword, and flanked by Von Greif. She saw a wounded man with two things she recognized all too well. Needle and Gendry's helm, a fallen banner by his side. She cut into him, even as he tried to resist, and didn't stop.

"VATCH", Von Greif said, and Arya looked up from the bloody hunk of meat that Polliver had become. She saw the Mountain, close to her. He towered over Sybille, but the lady did not seem at all frightened, armed as always with her mace, but also brandishing a dagger. The battle almost seemed to stop, as the leaders clashed. He swung at her, but she stepped out of the way of the blade. He now tried cutting sideways, and she did something almost impossible. She leapt up into the air, over the sword and over the Mountain.

He shouted, in rage and in pain as he fell to his knees, still taller than Sybille. She turned around on one foot and ended back in front of him: "You vill not die yet."

"But you will, whore!", he shouted, grabbing the lady in his enormous hands and falling forwards, pushing her to the ground.

Arya ran forwards to help her, even as her bodyguards stood impassively. But before she could reach them the Mountain grunted, and toppled over, Sybille sitting on his armoured chest, with only some dust in her rose-filled hair and thrusting her dagger into his armpits. "You vill serve."


	11. 11 Tyrion I

**Tyrion**

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and probably the most hated man in King's Landing, surpassing even his nephew, the king himself. He however did not hate himself, he did however hate most of his relatives. One of the few good things that might come from this siege would be most of them dying as well. He wouldn't object much to that, especially his sister's death has been a part of his dreams for years, but it would probably also involve him dying, a prospect that he didn't fancy at all, he much preferred still being able to drink. At least Myrcella and Tommen were safe. That was one of the few good things.

Beyond all the troubles of preparing a city for siege he had received ravens with messages that were simply put idiotic. The dead rising from their graves, walking away. What kind of fool beliefs that sort of thing? He suspected some ploy from Stannis' supporters to distract them from the coming battle. He looked over more letters that had arrived, bearing many seals from as many places. Then, hidden in the pile, he saw a sigil that he knew all too well. His father's.

He opened it, expecting another set of instructions, or being berated for something that he had done. But instead of that the message read something so completely unbelievable that it had to be a forgery. It said that lord Bolton had been defeated by an army of the dead, and that he had marched to Riverrun, leaving Ser Gregor Clegane behind as a rearguard. There he had made a truce with the rebels, agreeing to fight together for now. Tyrion was strongly urged to find Arya Stark back, or to provide a suitable excuse for her disappearance. He also had to place priority on the safety of Sansa Stark, and to ensure that no harm came to her.

He looked at the letter in complete surprise. His own father making peace, and not even on very favorable terms. He needed a drink, and some time with Shae. But as he was getting up for his favourite pastime, there was a not entirely polite knocking on the door and a man burst in. Tyrion sighed, he knew the red-bearded man all too well. Ser Meryn Trant, one of the Kingsguard. Utterly loyal to Cersei, and not one of his favourites. "The queen wants to see you, now."

He sighed again: "Tell my beloved sister that I'm on my way."

"She wants you there now. And I will take you to her. Now."

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming.", why couldn't they find some nicer Kingsguards, more civilized ones. Oh yes, Joffrey had chased them off.

A little later they arrived at the queen's apartments, where she was sitting, holding in one hand a glass of wine, and a letter in the other. It was one of the few things that they had in common, the love of wine, the hatred for each other, and of course their splendid looks.

"Can you believe this Tyrion? Our father making peace, and now wanting the Stark brats in one piece?"

"Oh, I can believe it all too well, but it would have been a lot easier if you hadn't lost the younger one, and your son hadn't beaten the older. But of course, I am not the one who will be blamed for that."

"But you will be. You are the Hand of the King. And people will tell father what I want them to. So, I want you to find that girl."

"We've been trying that for quite a while now, without much in the way of success, as you might remember. She's probably dead anyways."

"So? Then you just produce a body, and say that she died."

"And you expect me to say that to a group of angry Northmen? They will say that we murdered her! No, I will think of something."

"You certainly should. Has he also told you about those wights?"

"Yes, he did. It seems rather unbelievable. But now that Jaime is free it will be quickly dealt with."


	12. 12 Catelyn III

**CATELYN**

More and more were arriving at Riverrun, not only refugees from the east, but also soldiers from the east, the north, the south, and mostly the west. The first to arrive were Maege Mormont's eight hundred men, driving thousands of cattle before them. The other lords of the North were still on the march, but ravens had been sent. They were coming.

The new truce caused many troubles. The bloodshed of the war so far had caused a bitter hatred to grow between the different sides, and the Lannisters were encamped at a safe distance from Riverrun. But despite that precaution there had been fights. Some between the common soldiery, and some duels between knights. The only thing keeping some measure of peace was the stream of refugees, speaking about endless columns of the dead, marching, always marching. Along the Riverroad. The populations of whole villages fled before them, even those who had lived through the Mountain's horrors.

News had come about this most terrible knight as well. Of his whole army, only one still lived, he was nearly mad with fear, driven on by the singular desire to remain alive. He claimed that the Mountain had been slain, by a lady in black. To prevent the spread of rumours Tywin Lannister had the man executed for cowardice, a choice Catelyn did not entirely agree with, but she saw the reason behind it. If the common soldiers found out that they were fighting an enemy who could slay such a monster, there could be a panic.

She had spent much of her time speaking with lord Tywin, discussing, trying to find out what sort of peace might be made. There was some progress, but several difficult points still remained.

"The lords of the North and the Trident desire some sort of compensation for the war, before they will willingly bend the knee to your grandson, and my son will renounce his royal title."

"The dead march through the Riverlands, my lady, and the king's forces will aid in their protection. Once this enemy is defeated, we will wage war against the Iron Islands, and second sons of houses that suffered in this war will receive lordships there. "

"The Iron Islands? Why the Iron Islands?"

"I offer my apologies, my lady, I had assumed that you would already be aware. Winterfel has been taken by the Ironborn. A messenger arrived this morning bearing the news."

Fallen? The great castle? No. It couldn't be. It shouldn't be. Bran and Rickon, were they safe? Had they escaped? Were they captives? Had they been murdered? And Theon, did he know? Had he betrayed them?

"I, I wish to retire for now."

"Of course, my lady, shall we continue our discussions tomorrow?"

Catelyn rushed back to the castle, to the sept. She had to pray. Her poor sons. At least lord Lannister had promised to free her daughters, as soon as it was possible to bring them here safely. But now her younger sons, both left behind, where she expected them to be safe. Behind thick walls and high towers. But those treacherous ironborn had taken it. She was no general, but she knew that taking it by storm before ravens could be sent would be impossible. It meant only one thing. Treason. And who else could have done that than always-smiling Theon?

Her immediate instinct was to ride towards Robb, to go north and to save her sons, but she knew that she couldn't. Not now. Not with the dead marching. Not now that her daughters would almost be free. Sweet Sansa and unruly Arya. She loved them both, and longed to hold them in her arms again.

As she sat praying she heard someone approach. A boy said: "My lady, your brother requests your presence, at the Solar's balcony."

Slowly she stood up. She had to be strong. Strong for Robb, for Bran, for Rickon, for Sansa and for Arya. But also for Edmure. He needed a strong person by his side.

Edmure Tully, lord paramount of the Riverlands, and her brother, stood at the balcony. His fingers white as he grasped the railing. He stared to the east.

"Edmure? What troubles you?"

"That troubles me.", he answered, pointing to the east.

Catelyn looked, she saw the road, and in the distance. There she saw it. Like a snake appearing, coming ever closer, a tidal wave. She knew what it was, she had seen armies march before. But this was an army of darkness. The dead were coming to Riverrun. Her eyes drifted closer, to the bridge. On the castle's end a palisade had been erected, along with towers for archers. The bridge was of solid stone, making demolishing it exceedingly difficult. Therefore, it had been decided to make it the battlefield.

"They will be here in two hours. Do you think that we can stop them, Cat?"

"I think that they can be. Robb is two days' march from here, and he brings most of his army. If we can hold out until then, they will be defeated. You can hold this bridge, or this castle, and they will be driven back into their graves."

An hour later a messenger had arrived, a young man, obviously smallfolk, but riding a simple horse. He carried a letter, sealed with a wolf's head. This letter had been received by the gathered lords, who were preparing their armies for battle. It was written in a peculiar script, ornate letters more suited to a tome than to a letter spelled out the message.

"We, Sybille von Carstein, countess of Sylvania, grand duchess of Talabecland, baroness of Waldenhof, lady of Halberstadt, cordially invite the leaders of the army gathered at Riverrun to meet with us under flag of truce as the sun reaches its highest point. We desire to meet you at the center of the bridge that lies between us to prevent unnecessary loss of life. Both parties will be limited to the number of five. If you agree to these terms, inform our messenger. If you do not agree to these terms, we will not show mercy."

After a brief discussion it was decided that it would be better to meet this Sybille von Carstein. Not even the maesters knew such names, or what seemed to be titles, indicating that she must be from a far away land. But perhaps it was possible to reason with her, and the discussion soon turned towards who would form the negotiating party.

Finally, four men and a woman set forth under the dark clouds to go onto the same bridge where the hasty alliance had been made. Catelyn herself rode in the middle, flanked by her brother Edmure and Tywin Lannister. They in turn were flanked by two of the greatest knights of the realm. Ser Jaime Lannister and Lord Jason Mallister, who carried the banner of truce.

From the other side, Catelyn saw five horses approach, each with a rider. Four of the horses were nothing but bones, but the central one, it was different. A large black beast with fumes coming from the nostrils, and dressed in plate armour like a wealthy knight. One of the riders carried a large black banner, showing a wolf howling to a black moon, below a scroll which read: "VON CARSTEIN"

The others were all knights, in full armour. Except for the lady. She was relatively short, compared to her knights, but what was truly strange was that she rode the horse in a way that Catelyn had never yet seen. She sat sideways on some strange contraption of a saddle.

As they got closer she could see their eyes, all of the knights were fully helmeted, and armed as if for war. For a moment she feared a trap, but was distracted by the burning fires that she saw behind the visors. They reminded her of what she had seen in her poor Ned's skull, but fiercer, as though there was some dark intelligence inside them. But even that wasn't as frightening as the woman. She might have been only small, but her skin was too pale, and her yellow eyes seemed to burn right through them. She was unarmed, dressed in black, and seemingly in perfect control. Her four knights stopped, while she continued, alone before the party of five.

And most disquieting of all, she smiled kindly: "How good of you to come here. I so hate to have to use violence vhen there are other ways to resolve a conflict. I am perfectly villing to make peace, in trade for certain concessions of course. But first, let me introduce myself, I am countess Sybille von Carstein, but you may address me as "your ladyship"."

Gruffly Edmure answered her: "And I am Ser Edmure Tully, and these are my lands. I don't know who you think you are, but I will not let my people be butchered."

"Oh, but do not vorry yourself over that! I have no intention vhatsoever to create a massacre. I desire to live in peace, surrounded by loyal subjects.", she answered, in her strange accent.

Tywin jumped in: "You speak of concessions, what kind of concessions do you desire?"

"Ah! A businessman. Might I ask you your name?"

"Lord Tywin Lannister, of Casterly Rock. Warden of the West."

"Excellent! My demands are perfectly reasonably, as you vill see.", she answered, producing a map of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Now, as you vill be able to see, I desire only these lands here, enclosed by ze Trident in ze north, ze Red Fork in ze west, ze sea in ze east and as a southern border this Blackvater Rush. I vill call it Transfluvia."

Catelyn looked in astonishment. This woman was claiming the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, carved from the Riverlands and Crownlands. And, very importantly, including King's Landing.

"And why should we grant these lands to you?", Catelyn asked.

"For very simple reasons, lady, ehm, I fear that I haven't caught your name yet."

"Lady Catelyn Stark."

"Very vell, lady Catelyn Stark, lord Tywin Lannister, sir Edmure Tully. I presume that you have children? Do you have any plans for them? Take for example you, lady Catelyn Stark. I have been told that you have two daughters. Tell me, vhat have you planned for your youngest, for example?"

This turn in the conversation surprised Catelyn, she hadn't expected Arya to come up. "She, eh, she will be a lady, married, and she will have children of her own, to bring her joy."

"And vould you already have arranged for this marriage?"

"Yes, I have, but I don't see how this is important."

"Oh! But it is very important. So, you see your dear daughter sitting in her husband's great castle, surrounded by her children. Vhich castle vill she have?"

Catelyn looked down, to avoid the yellow eyes. "None yet, he is not the firstborn son. But lands will be created for them in the North."

"So, why do you marry her to this landless man?"

"To secure an important alliance. To pass a bridge so she and her sister could be saved."

"Vell, now I vant you to imagine her future if you choose var. She vill not live in a castle, she vill not have children to enjoy. She vill live a life of suffering. She vill know only pain. I vill find her, and I vill take her. I vill break their bones, rend their flesh and drink their blood. They vill be begging me for mercy, and I vill not grant it. Only because you decided to resist my perfectly reasonable desires. So, think clearly. I expect your answer before midnight tomorrow, as I understand that there might be a need for communications."


	13. 13 Robb I

**ROBB**

He had received the messengers while he was preparing to storm the Crag. At first he didn't believe it, but he knew his mother's handwriting, and that she would never let herself be forced to lure her child into a trap. So, he had to believe these strange tales, of wights, sorcery and worse. He rode hard, back towards Riverrun. The campaign had to be abandoned, not with Riverrun threatened. He knew that it wouldn't hold against any determined attack, his uncle would see to that. Riverrun would hold against Tywin, but he wasn't certain about it holding out against this new foe. Not when it was held by Edmure Tully. It wouldn't be a major disaster to lose him, he knew that, but he couldn't lose his mother. And his whole rear.

A little later another messenger arrived, telling him about the truce. It didn't surprise him as much as the previous news, he knew that his mother would find a way to give them the best possible chance, just like she got him the crossing of the Twins, and the allegiance of the Riverlords. Most of the lords were as confused as he was, and all sorts of theories were put forward. Some blamed all this on Lannister trickery, from the witch-queen, others said that the Others had returned, even though it still was summer, and others still claimed that mad Lady Danelle Lothston's blood sorcery had finally found enough blood flowing around the God's Eye.

News of the truce gained less immediate acceptance, with several lords and knights declaring that they would put any Lannister bannerman they would be fighting side by side with to the sword. The march was relatively uneventful, although Robb couldn't shake the feeling that if he had taken the Crag things would have been truly different. But that was not to be. He was marching back the way he came, but this time without Lannister men blocking his way.

He rode at the head of his column when they approached Riverrun late in the afternoon. He saw fluttering banners from dozens of houses, some of which he had fought against only days ago. At the bridge there were palisades and small towers, all of wood. He was met by a squire, a Frey boy if he wasn't mistaken. But then again, there were lots of Frey boys, old Walder had a lot of descendants. The boy told him that he was expected in a tent that was set up between the Lannister camp and the castle.

Robb sent for his lords, and together they marched into the gaudy tent, which obviously belonged to a man he had never expected to see on his own side. Tywin Lannister. Besides the lord of the Westerlands stood his elder son, more arrogant than ever. He had thought that his captivity might diminish the smugness, but apparently nothing could do that. Close to them sat lord Bolton. He seemed different, even though Robb couldn't tell what exactly was different about him.

He was told about the recent developments, and specifically the ultimatum they had received, to be answered before midnight. Everyone was shocked by the demands, fully half of the Crownlands and Riverlands, the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. Even devastated by war these lands were immensely valuable, and many of the houses that supported him had their seats there. "That is unacceptable. I cannot abandon the lords who have followed me to war to a witch."

The Greatjon cried out: "Hear! Let us go and crush this whore into the ground!"

There was some cheering from the assembled lords, but many remained silent, not sharing lord Umber's enthusiasm.

"We were already fully aware that we would have to fight this Von Carstein. What we should be discussing is how to go about it.", Tywin added in his cool voice, instantly taking away any and all spirit from the tent.

"What do we know about these wights?", Robb asked, trying to form a strategy.

The leech lord spoke up, softly, as he always did: "When they fought the army I commanded they came without any fear. In disciplined formations. But they lacked skill. One trained man was worth several of theirs, but they were without number. And they never stopped coming, no hint of fear or any other feeling. We were slowly pushed back by the weight of their numbers, and then a whole new army dug itself from the ground, right behind my force. When I led the cavalry out of the trap, they did not step aside, not even with a knight thundering right at them. Not even the slightest hesitation. We had to literally carve our way out, and most riders fell to the dead."

Ideas rushed through Robb's head. He wondered if they would need the bridge at all, the dead wouldn't need air. If that was the case, they could come right through the river, and all the defenses that were already in place would be worse than useless. They would only serve to trap men. He needed another stratagem. And if this was true, that the living were much better warriors than the dead, he could use it to his advantage. A plan was already forming in his head, one that would give them victory.

"Have you seen any scouts?"

"Unless they use magic, there aren't any.", Edmure answered.

"Ser Brynden, is there a ford close to here, to the south?"

"Two hour's ride from here there is one.", he answered, obviously wondering what kind of ploy Robb would think of.

"Then I want to lead the horse there, while the foot stays here. They will hold the enemy in place, and we can then swing the horse to break their flank, and to destroy their strength.", Robb thought that it was a simple plan, but one that could work against an enemy without scouts.

"And who put you in command, boy?", the gold-clad kingsguard asked mockingly.

Suddenly many of the lords were shouting, and it was impossible to hear what their arguments were, although it was clear enough what they were trying to say. Both sides claimed that the others should be led by those of their side, as the others were either traitors, or if not that, murderers and worse.

"Be silent!", lord Tywin commanded. "There will be a shared command. The lord paramount of the North will command one force, consisting of seven thousand heavy horse, to go on his proposed attack. Second in command of this force will be the lord commander of the Kingsguard. The left flank would be commanded by the lord paramount of the Riverlands, but as he is indisposed, his son and heir, ser Edmure Tully, will have command over five thousand foot to secure the castle and if necessary lines of retreat. His second will be lord Crakehall. I, as lord paramount of the Westerlands will command the center, consisting of the rest of my forces. My second in command will be ser Brynden Tully."


	14. 14 Arya VI

**ARYA**

Arya felt happier with Needle back, although she was wondering about the Mountain. The countess had wounded him, but unlike the footsoldiers, she hadn't killed him. Instead, he had been sent back to Harrenhal. When Arya had asked, Sybille said only that he was too useful to kill quickly, and that he would be kept alive to an appointed time.

She sat opposite the countess in her large black carriage, she was lying on one of the benches, half-sleeping in the darkness. She could barely see Sybille, who was reading one of the books that had been captured after the battle with the Northern force. She was always reading, except when the carriage stopped, often just before sunrise, and the large pavilion was set up for her to retire to. Arya mostly slept during the journey, except at day, then she would ride with the knights, and be trained in the arts of war, as Antonius called it. The knight was silent, but he had allowed her to call him by his strange first name, rather than his family name.

In the distance Arya heard a sound that had been absent for far too long. The howling of wolves. She opened her eyes fully, listening for the sound.

"Listen to them. Ze children of ze night. Vhat music they make.", Sybille was losing her accent, speaking more like Arya did by the day.

"It sounds like home, at Winterfel we often heard them."

"Ze moon is full, despite ze clouds they sing. Come. Let us greet them.", as the countess said this the carriage came to a halt, and she stood up.

Arya followed her outside, into the rainy night. Sybille looked up to the sky, until there was a clearing in the clouds, and she stared right at the moon. She said only one word: "Come."

Not to Arya, not to any of her servants, or anyone near her. Nothing happened, but the distant howling stopped. The column of dead men came to a halt, and Sybille moved through them, followed by Arya. There they stood for some time, before the countess put her hand on Arya's shoulder, a gesture that certainly was meant to comfort her.

She looked at the dark forest, and could make out movement. Soon thereafter a wolf appeared, followed by another. Arya lost count, even as the wolves all bowed their heads. But she didn't see it. She saw only one wolf. Larger than any of the others, grey, with dark golden eyes. She walked forwards, towards Nymeria. And her dire wolf came to her, alone of all the wolves free from whatever spell bound them to Sybille.

*************************

For the rest of the journey to Riverrun Arya spent a lot of her time with Nymeria. And at night the countess asked her about her bond with the dire wolf. Now Arya was alone in the column, with only the wolves and the marching dead around her. Not even any of the knights. The countess had ridden off with them, telling her that she should stay behind for now.

Finally she approached river, and could see Riverrun lying in the distance. Enormous numbers of dead soldiers were assembled on the bank of the river. She knew how to quickly count them. The skeletal warriors, those who had weapons, were gathered in columns a thousand strong, each with a single numbered banner. The rest, those who had been farmers, merchants or even children in life, were assembled in mere mobs. Sybille believed in order, and had assembled them in groups of roughly ten thousand, but without real banners. Only poles. But her attempt to count them failed, as she was interrupted. A small group of riders approached, one of them carrying the black banner.

At their head rode Sybille, who rapidly approached Arya.

"Arya, could you come with me for a moment? There are things that we must discuss.", she said as she dismounted.

The girl dismounted as well, and the countess took her hand.

"I am truly sorry", she said, going a little through her knees to put her face level with Arya's.

"What is wrong?"

"I have spoken with the leaders of the army on the other side of the river. Your mother was amongst them."

"My mother?", she exclaimed, happiness in her voice, "can I see her?"

"If you want to do so. But I have to tell you what she told me. She said that she wanted to rescue your sister, and for that reason she has betrothed you."

All the happiness was gone. "What!? To who?"

"She did not tell me everything, but she said that your brother had to cross a bridge, and you were traded for passage over it. This man has no lands, no titles and no wealth, and does not stand to inherit anything."

"Frey.", Arya growled, more like a wolf than a girl. "Why did she do this to me?"

She felt Sybille's fingers move over her face, free of the black gloves that she always wore. They felt cold, even as they swept her tears away. "I don't know. I once had a mother, centuries ago. Everyone always said that she was the nicest woman in the world, a true proper lady, kind and sweet. But not to me. Just like my father she hated me. Saying that I should have been a son. And that I should do my embroidery, and be silent, a proper quiet lady, not a real person, more a decoration than who I was. Who I truly was."

"Really? But how did you break free?", she asked, some hope sounding through the sadness and anger.

"When I was going to be sent away to be married to a baron who was twenty years older than I was, I fled. I fled into the night. I took one of the horses and fled into the forest. I did not know where to go, but I had to. And there, in that forest, I met my new father. He was kind to me. I became his daughter. He gave me his name, and I remained at the court of Drakenhof."

"How? Was he secretly you father?"

"Oh no, he only took me as his daughter, together with my new mother. That is something that the count or countess can do."

"Could you do the same?"

"I am the countess now. My will is the law."

For a moment Arya considered taking the offer. But she loved her mother. And even Sansa. And now Sybille is going to wage war against them. But she also likes the countess, even though she did kill Hot Pie and so many others. She was nice to her, one of the first since her father was murdered. It made her feel horrible, and afraid.

"Are you going to kill my family?"

"I hope not. But I will fight them if they refuse my demands. I hate killing, but sometimes I have to. To create peace. Have you seen what was done to these lands? That was not just the work of one party in the war. Both did that. Both have killed thousands, and I will enforce peace. I will create a new law, and there will be no more such horrors."


	15. 15 Catelyn IV

**CATELYN**

She followed her uncle through the hallways of Riverrun. Darkness had already set in, but she had to do this. He knew the castle like few others did. And the surrounding lands, he knew them even better. As a child she had often wondered about all his secret paths, but as she grew up she forgot about them. There were few people around, many had already gone to bed, and these lower hallways were little used. She looked down as they went down another set of stairs. By the light of the candle she could make out some of her simple dress, dark, like the monster's. She hated the lady of the dead, for being there, for threatening herself, her family, and most importantly, her children. It had led to a truce with the Lannisters, but she had the feeling that that enemy had only been replaced by a worse one.

Below the staircase there was a locked door, but uncle Brynden opened it, showing a small room beyond, filled with water and a small boat. She didn't know of this room, and certainly not of any gate in this place. But she followed his instructions, and sat down in the boat, in utter silence. He opened the small gate after blowing out the candles. She could see by the moonlight when the gates were opened, and quickly closed behind them. From the outside they were impossible to make out, seeming like another part of the castle's stone.

They floated over the river, shrouded in darkness, and Catelyn shivered. It was still summer, but at night the river air was cold. Not as cold as that of the North of course, where her Bran and Rickon were held, but she had not been there for far too long now. Seized by Theon, she hoped that he would be kind enough to not harm her sons. But such thoughts were not for this moment. She had to focus on the present.

Slowly she was getting used to the darkness, and became capable of seeing at least some things, like the opposite shore coming closer. In silence the small boat touched the shore, and Brynden tied it to a pole. Her uncle helped her out of the boat, a little rougher than usual, he seemed to be nervous as well. They had to walk a short distance, until they were at the appointed place. Catelyn could already see a pair of figures, one standing, carrying a torch, and another seated. The seated figure rose up: "Welcome, lady Stark, it is good to meet you under less formal conditions."

This was it then, the result of secret letters. It would be hard to explain, but it had to be done. She simply couldn't trust the Lannisters, not after what they had done to Ned. She answered: "Thank you for receiving me."

"Please, be seated. That talks so much easier, and we have many things to discuss."

She sat down and the pale lady continued: "First of all I want to be honest with you. I believe that your current allies claim to have two of your daughters in their possession, but it has come to my attention that you have a total of two of them. Which becomes rather confusing, as I have recently taken another of your daughters into my care."

Catelyn almost fell off the seat at this news. How was this possible? Was she lying? "How?"

"Very simple, she escaped her captors some time ago, and I found her working as a servant for some unsavory characters. I understand that this might seem a little unbelievable to you, but I couldn't bring her here, she is vast asleep in preparation for the night. But be assured that she is safe, she is with my guard and has this dire wolf, Nymeria I belief it is called. She told me about her life with you, and a doll you once gave her, who she called Black Aly. And that you were very upset when she took toy swords from her brother to arm her doll."

Catelyn remembered that all too well, one of Arya's many insubordinations. It was true then, this certainly was no common knowledge. And it meant that the Lannisters had been lying about Arya, and if they lied about her, they might also be lying about Sansa, she could be dead already. Or worse.

"Now, I believe that there were matters that we had to discuss. Could you tell me the alternative terms that you would offer?"

"Ehm", she thought for a few moments, gathering her wits after this news.

Von Carstein continued for her: "I propose first discussing the most important point, the lands. What is your offer in that regard."

That put her back into the frame of mind that was needed. "We propose that you gain full control over Harrenhal, bordered to the north by the Trident and in the west by the line running between Harrenhal and the Trident. Everything east of the God's Eye would be yours."

She pointed it out on a map that she produced. It was a great swathe of land, but it would preserve most of the Riverlands. She pointedly did not mention any borders to the south or east, that was not hers to decide, and for all she cared, Von Carstein would take all of them.

"That seems like an interesting proposition, but it does leave my borders exposed. I would rather take more lands to the west, running from the northern part of the Blackwater Rush to this place here, called the Inn of the Kneeling Man, I believe. I understand that this might be difficult for your lords to accept, but I believe that a solution will also be possible for this issue. If I remember it correctly your allies are from lands further to the west, and have caused all this devastation. If their forces are sufficiently destroyed, lands can be taken from them to compensate their losses, including those from this war. They have two main forces left, one of which is here, and the other to the south, in the city of King's Landing, which will be incapable of interference. This would free up your son's forces to split up, one part to submit the west, the other to retake the north."

Catelyn though for a few moments. She wanted peace, to return to Winterfell. But she also wanted those who had threatened her children to never do so again. Those who had killed her dear Ned. And now she had the chance. Betraying the traitor Lannisters, for them to be cut down and to destroy their house's power for ever. And it would save them from having to fight Stannis, who would demand Robb's head. "That, that is acceptable. But what about my daughters?"

"When I take King's Landing, I will take care to preserve her life. She will be unharmed. For the younger one I have a request. I read about the custom of fostering children, and I would truly appreciate the gesture if she could be fostered with me, after a period by your side at your home of course. As a sign of good will of course."

Catelyn was surprised: "You want Arya?"

"Only for a limited amount of time. There are things that she has to be protected from, and things that she has to learn. My proposal is that she stays with you for half a year, and I will then foster her until she has reached the proper age of majority, which for a noblewoman in my homeland is sixteen. This will greatly help to create strong bonds between our realms. What is the difference between such an arrangement, and a marriage. I promise that she will be safe, as she is now, and no harm will come to her."

"But she is my child!"

The lady smiled: "Yes, she is your child. But you were going to marry her to a young lord already, and your other daughter was sent away from you as well. It is the natural course for mothers to let go of their children, to let them have their own life, away from you. It is an unfortunate thing, but we cannot keep our children with us through the ages. But it is possible to give them the chance to be truly happy, to reach their potential. And that is what I offer you. A happy daughter, who will return to you when she is a woman, the woman that is growing within her."

She looked into Catelyn's eyes, and now the lady of Winterfell saw other eyes than she had seen before. Not the yellow, monstrous eyes of a predator. They were still yellow, but of a soft kind. Now she looked into the eyes of a deeply caring woman, someone who understood her, and someone she could trust.


	16. 16 Jaime I

**JAIME**

Clad in his golden plate Jaime Lannister, lord commander of the Kingsguard of Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name looked at his companions at arms. He rode by the side of the boy who had been given command over the horse. Robb Stark seemed sullen. He should be, he was riding by the side of one of the greatest knights of the realm. There were few who could match his blade. As he so often did he went over them in his head. Gregor Clegane was stronger, and might have had a chance, but he was dead now. The younger brother however might have a chance, but he was too slow. In his prime his predecessor would have bested him, but he was old now, and no longer had the skill. No, it was clear to him, he was the greatest knight alive, better than any of these men that he would ride with.

He was still angered over his being held captive for all this time. But he would have his revenge. He hated that it had to be like this, but a Lannister pays his debts, even when it becomes unpleasant. He knew the plan, and so he spoke in a slightly mocking tone: "So, lord of the north, shall I lead the van?"

Robb Stark answered immediately, speaking quickly, slightly nervously even. He must be worried about the coming battle. "Yes, take your western knights and attack when I give the signal."

Immediately he rode off, towards his men. Two thousand of the finest horse in the Seven Kingdoms. More than enough to smash a hole through any army. And certainly enough for what he was intended to do. His father had negotiated a good settlement with the lady of the dead. She would become lady paramount of the Riverlands, and in return, she would smash the armies of the North and Riverlands, and then turn south to crush Stannis and any who would stand with them. It would reunite the realm, under king Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, and his secret son. Or not so secret anymore now, but those rumours would be buried along with the Starks.

They crossed the river easily enough, there were no opposing forces on the ford. Only a few miles away the battle would still be raging. In the middle of the night dead men had attempted to take the bridge, but they had been held off by the men guarding it. His father made sure that his men would be there when the time came, to let the dead pass and put an end to the so-called allies. All the forces were perfectly arrayed for it, there would be no escape, only surrender or death.

He saw the lines of the dead ahead. Apparently paying no heed to the flank. But he knew better. He would charge right through the first screening line, and a little later the King in the North's men would follow. They would ride right into the trap, and be destroyed. Or so the lady had promised them. But he wouldn't just stand back and watch, he would ride into the fray, and cut down that arrogant boy himself, like he would have killed his father. It was a distasteful thing, but it was necessary, to save Tyrion, and his beloved Cersei. Along with the only children that he will ever have. To be back to her, back in her arms would be a glorious thing, the thought that sustained him through his captivity. But first, revenge.

Jaime looked at the men at his side, the banners, the lances, the glittering armour. Behind him Robb would be forming up for his charge, but it was impossible to see from here, hidden by the trees. But he could see the distant battle, far ahead of him. His father knew the signal, when Robb Stark had charged the lady would put up a large black banner, and then her army would be let through, to destroy them.

He heard the horn, and shouted: "To victory! Charge!"

This was what he lived for, the wind through his helmet, a lance in his hand and a shield in the other. Ahead of him an army, behind him knights. The only difference was that this army was already dead, and it was more of a mockery of a battle. As he got closer he could see that their ranks were not as thin as he had expected, it was an actually dense formation. But it was too late to hesitate, and even without the treachery, he was Jaime Lannister, and he would not back down.

He was going to cut his way through this whole army if he had to, but the cuntess of the dead would pay. He would make sure of that. The men were hesitating, just as the horses were, slowing down a little, but he pressed on, fearlessly. And they followed him. Moments before he would crash into the dead infantry he saw them start falling, just collapsing where they stood. His lance still caught one in the head as he rode forwards, but all the others hit only air as they charged over the fallen bodies. The further on they pushed, the more fell. He looked around, and saw that there were few losses, even as he had to slow down, and dropped his lance and drew a sword. This would be the sword to kill the boy who called himself king.

He had not been betrayed, only shown the control over the dead that this Von Carstein had. Far ahead he could see a platform, raised up above the dead, and covered with a tent's roof. But the sides appeared to be open, and he could see shapes standing there. And then it happened. The black banner was raised up. He smiled to himself, there would be payback for his imprisonment, and that of Tyrion. These Starks and Tullys would know the lion's roar.


	17. 17 Arya VII

**ARYA**

The countess sat below the canopy, on the platform that she had erected. Arya found it strange that she didn't seem to be paying attention to the battle, even as the dead tried to force the bridge against fierce resistance. She knew that her brother would be there, and her mother. Under attack, and still Sybille sat, reading. The book seemed boring to her, Lives of the High Septons. It almost felt insulting, men were dying, and the countess was reading, as though she was sitting in a garden.

There are a few others on the platform, the knights, armoured as always, and fully helmeted despite the sunny weather. By now she had concluded that they were dead like the others, although these were different. Antonius, the one who was teaching her to fight, had refused to answer her questions, just like he didn't respond to many others. And when he spoke, it was is short sentences, as though he found speaking to be difficult.

Aside from them there were two servant girls, one of them had arrived with the countess, and Arya still found it impossible to speak with her. Her accent simply was too thick, and she seemed to be rather stupid. The other was a girl that had been living in one of the villages along the River Road, where Sybille had executed three armed men who had been unable to escape. The execution however was not in one of the ways that she knew, no beheading or hanging. Instead, an iron hook was pushed under their ribs, and they were hung from trees. Seeing it made her wince, but she had heard the crimes of that trio, and the ones who had escaped to the armies on the other side of the river. They had taken the village, taken the food, raped the women and killed many of the people, even babes. Even thinking about it gave her conflicted feelings, the punishment was harsh, but they deserved it.

She took the Myrish Eye that she had been given by Sybille, and looked at the bridge. There was a palisade there, held by soldiers in colours that she knew. Men belonging to house Lannister. They seemed to be holding off the dead with ease, with crossbows and pikes. How was the countess planning on breaking through? She had no doubt that Sybille could have done it herself, but she was here, reading. The attack seemed almost half-hearted, even as thousands tried to force a crossing.

Suddenly things were happening. She heard horns blowing to her left, and looked with her own eyes. She saw a wall of horsemen approaching, in the colours of Westerland houses. Immediately she looked with her eye-glass, and she saw the knights thundering towards the dead, who were turning to face them. For a moment she saw a knight armoured in gold, but it was hard to keep track at such a distance. What she saw then truly surprised her. She saw Sybille's warriors fall even before the knights reached them. Still looking she asked: "What is happening?"

"That would be the vanguard of your brother's heavy cavalry, charging towards us. They are there to smash me against the river, or rather, to pretend that they do so. Now, would you like to come with me? We are going to start this battle."

Arya looked at her even as an enormous black banner was raised, a larger version of the one the knight carried. Sybille rose, heading towards the platform's edge while dark clouds were gathering, blocking out the sun. The four knights followed her, and Arya did the same, quickly climbing onto her horse. They rode fast, Nymeria by her side and the dead parting for them until they almost reached the knights, who by now had lost their momentum, and were standing still, to await the countess.

Arya knew that these were all from the Westerlands, and wondered if her family had been betrayed. Just before they reached the knights, those that had been trampled in the charge rose again, turning around and pointing their spears at the riders. She could make out their leader, a man whose face she knew all too well. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. The countess spoke, again with a booming voice that would reach for hundreds of feet: "Knights of the west! Your allies have turned their backs on you! Your own lords have abandoned you to your fates! But I offer you something that none of them could ever give you! I offer you eternity! To never truly fall, to walk through the centuries! And not as these pawns that surround you, but as knights! Step of your horses, and kneel before me. I will accept your service, and you will be forever!"

Confusion obviously reigned within their ranks, until a reply came from the golden-armoured Lannister. It was no reply of words, but one of action. He came riding right at her, exposed in front of the knights, his lance leveled at the countess. She did not move, merely looking at him, smiling even as the lance pierced her belly, running her through.

His own horse was attacked by Nymeria, who bit its throat, trapping Jaime beneath his horse. Sybille looked down at the lance, and to Arya's amazement her smile widened. She took the lance in both hands, and snapped it in two, one piece still running right through her she dropped the other onto the ground before pulling out the other end. Arya looked at the wound, a hole right through her body, which disappeared as though nothing ever happened, leaving only a hole in the dress. Sybille rode forwards, alone towards the western knights, who were dismounting, and the first of them were already kneeling.


	18. 18 Catelyn V

**CATELYN**

She stood on the battlements of Riverrun, watching the battle. Von Carstein had promised her that she would break through on the bridge, driving the foot between the castle and the dead. Her uncle commanded the Riverlander and Northern men there, and would withdraw to the walls while the few western men inside Riverrun would be put to the sword. She saw the cavalry charge, far away, but still clear enough. Robb had done well. It had been difficult to convince him to betray the Lannisters like this, but she told him about Arya, who was with Von Carstein. She explained that it meant that they had been lying about one of his sisters, and could easily do so about the other.

Catelyn watched, wondering when the dead would break through. So far there were no hints of it, they failed to even push back the Lannister men. Out of nowhere dark clouds gathered, and when she quinted her eyes, she could see riders depart from the canopied platform as a black banner was raised. She wondered what that would mean.

A few moments later she knew, and her heart was beating faster. The Lannisters were not being driven back, they simply abandoned their positions, running away. That could mean only one thing. Treachery. Of course it was treachery. Why wouldn't the Old Lion seek separate terms? At least Robb was with his five thousand horsemen, free from this trap, but she feared what this would mean for them. Uncle Brynden was already withdrawing his men towards the castle, and all around she could hear the cries of treason.

Edmure, who stood next to here was completely surprised, and almost paralyzed, but there were other men there who would do what was necessary. Lord Mallister had been told of the plan, unlike Edmure, who would not have kept his silence. He gave the order, and the few westerners were cut down, denounced as traitors. Lord Crakehall was surprised by this turn of event, obviously he was expecting to be the traitor here. But now he saw that his position was hopeless and he surrendered.

Down below she saw the dead marching right between the forces of her former allies in a long column. They simply kept coming, in greater and greater numbers, unopposed. She felt worried about what this would mean. Not for her, but for Edmure, for Arya, and for Robb. He at least was away from here, and might escape. But where? His five thousand would be all that was left of the Northern army, far from home and surrounded by enemies. And even home had been taken by the traitor Krakens. She knew that there would be no amnesty, not now that they had no more power to truly resist. Perhaps he could go into exile, to Essos, if he could find ships.

But she would never know. She would die here, in the castle where she was born. The dark clouds were coming closer and closer, followed by more of the dead. She wondered what they felt. Were their memories and their minds still in there somewhere? Kept from going with the Stranger? Or were these mere animated husks, with nothing left of those they once were? She would soon know.

Her dark thoughts were disturbed by a change in the endless column marching over the bridge. There were five mounted figures. One of them holding that terrible banner that reminded her of the Stark sigil, a wolf. But not the grey dire wolf that she had come to see as almost comforting. It was a vicious wolf, crying to a bloody moon. But there were no four knights now, only three. Von Carstein was easy to recognize, on her strange saddle, but the fifth rider was different as well. Smaller than the others, even smaller than the monster. She wondered what sort of abomination it could be as they slowly crossed the river. But then she knew. She saw a slightly smaller form, a large wolf. A dire wolf. It couldn't be. There were only a few such beasts south of the wall, all of them with her children. She felt an equal measure of hope and desperation. It could be Arya, but she was right in the middle of that army, far too close to the Lannisters.

Edmure looked at her, and she knew that she had to be strong. For her little brother. It was who she was, always being strong for those she loved.

"Have the Lannisters betrayed us?", he asked.

"Yes, they have."

"What do we do now?"

Before she could answer she heard a great horn blow. The signal that had been agreed between her and the lady of the dead. Three long blows, followed by three short ones. The signal for Robb to attack. It confirmed her fears. She looked to the trees and saw horsemen break from their cover, charging towards the old lion's mounted reserve.

"We have to fight them."

"Then I will sally, to help uncle Brynden."

"Yes, go and help them."


	19. 19 Robb II

**Robb**

He heard the six blows of the horn, three long, three short, and he knew that it was the signal. It had been hard, to send Ser Jaime into the charge, knowing that he would die. But his mother had told him that it was the only way, that the Lannisters were already betraying them. He gave the command, and his horsemen rode from the woods. Around him were the sons of the greatest lords of the North and the Riverlands, and a few daughters as well, he thought, looking at the Mormont sisters. Ahead of them he saw the great Lannister banner, the one that he had been in pursuit of this whole war. Mostly for the man who would be with it, his greatest, most implacable foe. Tywin Lannister himself.

There were far fewer knights ahead of him, and from the other side the dead would be attacking already. A perfect trap, one that would see the whole Lannister force crushed. He knew it, the plan was good, and he trusted his men to fight well, as they had done in many battles already. But then something changed, the dark clouds came closer, and he saw white tendrils leaping through the sky.

He swallowed, remembering that his mother told him that the previous time that Von Carstein rode there were dark clouds above her. But she said nothing about the tendrils. He saw them touch the Westerlander horse, and men started to panic, not even turning into his charge. Horses just fell to the ground, and men slumped in their saddles. Grey Wind yelped, and turned around.

But it was too late to avoid going into it now, and the charge hit home. The enemy offered little resistance, and he was surprised when he saw some faces. They were all old men. Even the squires seemed to be old, and the horses looked ragged, not like what he had seen before. He had his lance aimed at a man, but he fell, his horse dropping to the ground without being hit by anything. But he kept riding, right at the great banner, where the old lion would be. But even there, where the greatest knights would be, there was only disarray. No more order.

Several knights had dismounted, around a figure in red and gold. Tywin himself. He lay on the ground, surrounded by dead men and horses, all of them without obvious injuries. He came to a halt, like his other riders did, all of them surprised by the easy charge. One of the men around Tywin collapsed to the ground, even as one of his men seized the standard of the West, the man holding it barely capable of holding on to it. No more fell, and the survivors threw down their arms, whimpering and speaking of sorcery.

He had been accused of sorcery before, but this was different. This time it was real, but it was not his. Robb Stark dismounted, approaching his fallen foe. He knew that the old lion was old, but this was not just old. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and his skin like wrinkled parchment. Only sorcery could have done this.

One of his men asked him what to do, bringing him back to the battle. He saw that the enemy foot was fleeing, and he gave the command, he didn't like it, but it was necessary. "Ride them down, don't let them escape."

He returned to his steed, ensuring that a few of his men remained behind to guard the prisoners, not that it seemed necessary, they were too shaken to even consider fleeing. Together with his guards he rode back to the battlefield, but it seemed more like some hellish scene. The enemy was fleeing in a blind panic, not away from him, but towards him, many no longer carried their weapons, abandoned in their haste to run. Most of them surrendered, although some of his more headstrong men couldn't resist this opportunity for vengeance. Especially the Riverlanders fall upon the fleeing men with pure hatred in their hearts.

******

Soon thereafter it was all over, and he rode towards Riverrun, towards his mother. The dead stood between him and there however. Rank after rank of skeletons, and even some who looked like they might still be alive, if not for the terrible wounds they bore. His men rode in front of them, keeping a distance, clearly afraid of them. He couldn't blame them, to see the face of death like that was a truly chilling experience, especially after the display of sorcery and the terrible slaughter they had inflicted. At a slight distance, behind them, he spotted a black banner, depicting a wolf crying to a red moon, and the name. Von Carstein. He could see them, even over the dead. Three knights, a sideways-sitting lady who he assumed to be their leader, and a boy. With his guards by his side he made his way towards them, and the Smalljon announced him in his booming voice: "The King in the North and of the Trident!"

As an answer the boy led his horse into a gallop, even before the others could speak. He could see the lady watching, and he wondered what this meant. The skeletons parted for the boy, and he shouted, in a voice similar to one he remembered: "Robb! Robb!"

And then he knew, this was no boy. The Smalljon and Owen Norrey moved up to intercept her. But he stopped them: "Let her through, she is my sister."


	20. 20 Arya VIII

**ARYA**

She felt happier than she could remember ever feeling, happier than when she was still at home, happier than when Nymeria returned to her. She smiled from ear to ear. She looked to her right, and still couldn't believe it. She was back with her mother. When she met her again she had been almost smothered by the hugs and kisses, and for the first time in her life, she didn't resist. She knew that she shouldn't be here now, but her mother wouldn't let her leave her sight, and she definitely had to be here.

They sat at a table in the lord's solar, along with several of the most powerful lords, and one more lady. The countess. Sybille sat to her left, having changed her pierced dress for a dark purple one, without anything in her red hair. The only representative of her army in this room, where a dozen armed lords were present. But Arya knew that Sybille wasn't in danger, all the others were. She had seen her tear through men, throw them into the air as though they were mere dolls. And she had seen a lance going right through her, and yet, there was no wound. And then there was the fighting of today, where they were right in the middle of it. And Arya had gladly used the instructions given to her by Antonius, and had cut down a footsoldier. She hadn't told her mother about it, she wouldn't like such things very much.

Sybille broke the silence: "It brings great joy to my heart to be here with you. Our mutual enemies have been exterminated as the vermin they are, and this part of the war is over. All that remains to be done here is to formalize our treaty. To this end I have already communicated with lady Stark, and I expect compliance with the terms that have been agreed upon. It would be most unpleasant if a need for hostilities between us would arise. I abhor violence, as I am certain all of you do. Now, to reiterate these terms, so everything is clear to everyone. The area indicated on this map is to be ceded to me. In return, you will have peace."

Immediately several lords spoke up, specifically those of the southwestern Riverlands. Sybille looked at all of them, and they quickly fell silent again. "'Houses with holdings in this area will be permitted to remain, if they accept me as their overlord, and swear to follow my laws. Those who belief that they cannot do so will be compensated with lordships in the Westerlands, after their lord has surrendered. These lordships will of course be under the overlordship of house Tully."

A fleshy, soft-looking lord spoke, with a weak voice: "My lady, if we are to remain in our holdings, which house would we serve?"

"Von Carstein. I will be your countess."

Arya added: "I think that lord Mooton wants to know what your sigil is, and the words of your house. That sort of thing.", she could almost feel her mother's eyes bore into her head, which made her smile a little inside. It was good to be back.

She had told Sybille about those things earlier, although the countess had called words mottos. "My sigil will be the one all can see on my banners, the wolf crying to a bloody moon. My words shall be: The Blood if the Life. I will ask representatives of those houses that wish to bow to me to come and visit me tonight, on the other side of the river, so I may speak with my future subjects. Other, more personal parts of the treaty have already been discussed, and will not require further discussion. So I would ask your king and overlord to put his seal to the treaty."

She passed the paper over to Robb, who slowly read through it. She stretched her neck to try to read it as well, but the script was too small. So, she simply looked around the room. Everyone seemed to try to keep their distance from Sybille. As though that would help. She had seen her draw the shadows into herself, and then the spells. Strange, meaningless words. But they had power. She had seen the dead rise, men age years in mere moments, and worse. She couldn't do such things, not after Sybille's warnings about what happened to those who failed.

After Robb had put his seal on the treaty, and a copy of it, Sybille did the same. With that concluded she took one of the papers, and Arya suddenly saw a note in her lap, also bearing the seal of the howling wolf. The countess stood up: "I thank you for your kind hospitality, but it is time that I leave you. I have a war to win. Keep our peace, and you will prosper. And my dear Arya, do not worry. Our paths will cross again, under moon and stars."

*****

When the countess was gone Arya felt strange. She missed being with Sybille, despite the horrors that she inflicted. She had a sense of justice, and she had won a war for her family. And ever more importantly, she had been nice. She had given her a tutor with the sword, and had let her dress as she liked. She looked at the note, and wondered what would be in there. She folded it open and looked. The handwriting was different from what she had seen before, less tidy, but much more personal.

"Dearest Arya,

It truly pains me to leave you like this, but I have made an agreement with your mother. Do not be afraid of her, or hate her. She doesn't know any better. To make your time easier, I have taken the liberty to prepare a number of gifts for you. They will be delivered while you read this. Please accept them as the tokens of my gratitude for your company that they are."


	21. 21 Tyrion II

**TYRION**

Tyrion looked to the battle between the fleets below. I was almost time now, and the chain was lifted from the water, trapping both fleets in place. They were still battling each other. He knew that he would be killing many of his own men as well, but far more of the enemy's. And it wasn't like the fleet had much in the way of other uses than this for him, while Stannis' fleet was his way to attack the allowed himself to smile. And then the fires started. First on one ship, and quickly spreading to the others, leaping from ship to ship. It would not destroy everything, but most of it was good enough for Tyrion. He watched unflinchingly. This was a true horror, the closest he would ever come to seeing dragonfire. He hears the goldcloaks start shouting in celebration.

But then something changed. The flames started moving, aside, and a ship went through the hole in the fire, followed by more and more ships. The sounds of celebration stopped. He cursed: "Fuck! This is not how it was meant to happen. How could this even happen? It is wildfire, fire. It doesn't just move aside when you ask nicely. And wildfire is supposed to be more than just fire, and, as is clearly in the name, it is supposed to be wild. Not controlled!"

Next to him the little shit turned to look at him: "Was this your plan, uncle? To set fire to my fleet and to let my enemies through?"

"Oh no your grace. I had planned on setting their fleet on fire, and perhaps a little of our fleet as well. But for some reason the enemy has not obliged us by catching fire. And whatever happens, Wildfire is not supposed to just part for a ship."

He decided to try to ignore the king for now, he had a battle to oversee. Adding his nephew to it was a punishment almost too cruel for words. His sister must be behind it, he was certain of it. Looking for an excuse to let the boy order his execution. "Ser Arneld, turn the three whores thirty degrees to the west, and destroy as many of those ships as you can."

"Yes, my lord."

And again the little shit felt the need to interrupt him while he was trying to save him. It almost was as though he wanted to die: "But uncle, mother promised me that I could command the trebuchets!"

It was a good interruption however. With some luck it would keep him out of his hair for some time. "Yes, go ahead and play with your trebuchets, your grace."

The king happily departs, accompanied by several of his kingsguard, who have received careful instructions from Tyrion. He has to be kept safe, but can't be allowed to retreat. If he would do that, the whole battle would be lost.

Tyrion hopes that he won't do anything stupid, those whores are one of the few ways in which they can now hope to stop Stannis' crossing. He looks back to the flames, many ships have still burned, but far too many have survived, sailing past the city. For a brief moment he thinks that he glimpses a red figure standing on the leading ship, the one for which the flames parted.

He curses himself, this ploy should have seriously damaged their fleet, not just his own one. Those men might still have been useful. But there is no helping it now. He calls for his horse. He has to go to the western part of the city, to command the defense. In normal times it would sound like a joke, a dwarf commanding the defense of the greatest city in the realm. But now it was real, and far from something to laugh at.

As he rode there he was met by a messenger, who told him that thousands of men were forming up on the Tourney Grounds. He gave his horse the spurs. A major assault would be coming up, and he would have to be there to stop it.

At the King's Gate he could see that the messenger hadn't lied. More and more men came from those unburned ships, and rams were prepared along with ladders. He had expected most of the fighting to take place here, and this was where he had sent most of the men. Several thousand goldcloaks, and as many other men as could be mustered. It would have to be enough.


	22. 22 Davos I

**DAVOS**

Ser Davos Seaworth hated the red witch, there was no doubt about that. But for the first time he was happy that she was with them. He had opposed her coming with the army, Stannis had to show his own strength, not hers when taking King's Landing. But more importantly, he feared what she would have done to the city. The great sept cast down, at the least. But when she had her vision, claiming that the great other had sent a champion, the king had agreed to let her come along.

When they set sail, he had seen the trap, seen the flaws in the strategy, and he had seen the wildfire. What he had not expected was her moving the flames aside, to let most of the fleet through. Of course, the flagship had still burned, but that was a small loss compared to a whole fleet, and the commander, he had been a fool anyways. It was better that the king was rid of him.

He looked at the city where he had grown up. It was still the same, but it was different to see it as a part of an invading fleet. In the aftermath of Ser Imry's death he had taken command, and most of the captains gladly followed his orders. They were going as fast as they could, past the city's walls. To unload troops, and to ferry them across the river. Arrows rained down on them, along with stones, and worse. But at least they didn't all burn to ashes. He had seen that happen before, and he didn't wish that fate on anyone.

He turned to his second: "Bring her to the south bank. The king wants to cross."

Once at the shore Stannis sought him out, and boarded the ship along with the first of his men. "Take me across. The sooner we take the city the better."

"Yes, your grace.", he answered to his king and as soon as the ship was filled up with men they crossed the river, still under the arrows of the defenders.

"What happened to the rest of my fleet, Ser Davos?"

"Wildfire, your grace. They lured us in with their own fleet as bait."

"That was to be expected, traitors breed treason. And did Melisandre help you through?"  
"She cast the flames aside, and we could pass. At the cost of the enemy fleet."

Black Betha almost crashed into the opposite shore, the rowers exerting themselves to their utmost to bring the king ashore.

**********

He had not disembarked with his king. Instead, he had taken over command of the fleet. Forty ships had been lashed together, to form a makeshift bridge across the river. More and more men were crossing, to storm the King's Gate. A ram had already been brought across, along with several ladders. He stood on his ship, watching. Most of the men were ashore already, but someone needed to oversee the crossing, to let it just happen would invite chaos.

For a few moments he thought about the wildfire, what might have happened if it had worked as their enemies had planned. Most of the fleet would have burned, and crossing would have become very difficult, especially under the arrows and stones of the defenders. No, it was a good thing that the witch had come, even though it would still be better if she did not get into the city. Luckily, it seemed like she was completely exhausted, and she had to be carried off the ship that she had been on. At first Davos had hoped that she was dead, but apparently she was still breathing.

When the first soldiers had landed, there had been a sortie, but with the constant flood of reinforcements, it was quickly forced back and had almost carried the gate. If not for the arrival of fresh goldcloaks. But now the ram was being steadily brought forwards, covered by mantlets and other such equipment.

Stannis was doing this the proper way, not some mindless storming of a wall, but a systematic assault. He had time on his side, every moment more of his men arrived, and their own arrows were taking a toll on the defenders already. He looked at them, they were no proper soldiers, those goldcloaks. They exposed themselves too much when loosing their own bolts, and that allowed Stannis' proper men to take them down.

But still it was a bloody business. Heavy stones were raining down, obviously launched by large trebuchets somewhere in the city. They were trying to hit the bridge of ships, but correcting the range was a very slow process, made all the harder because Davos ordered the bridge to be moved several times, keeping it unharmed for now.

He kept looking at the struggle for the gate, and the ram made it into position. Attempts with boiling water and hot sand were made to dissuade the rammers, along with thrown stones and any other projectile that could be found, but the cat kept it, and the men working it safe. It started battering against the gate, and to his surprise it quickly fell apart. Following this the king and his men started to surge into the city, the battle would be over soon now.


	23. 23 Tyrion III

**TYRION**

Things were going from bad to worse. Not only had his wildfire plan been foiled by what could only be magic, or of course, all the gods, old new, and a few he didn't know yet, taking a piss on him. But that wasn't everything, he could have lived with just that, barely. But all this would almost certainly get in the way of that rather enjoyable activity. His first attempted sally had almost turned into a complete disaster instead of just a partial one. The Hound had led out a group of knights and other fighting types, but they had been overmatched by Stannis' numbers, and of course, him being a king actually worth fighting for.

Joffrey meanwhile had been playing with his trebuchets, until he had run out of men to launch with them. By now they were trying to hit the bridge of ships that had been quickly assembled, but communicating their misses back to them was rather difficult, and they insisted on just missing their targets. And, in another inspired attempt to make his day even worse, his nephew had come to the King's Gate, along with him, and now he looked ready to run away. Of course, that couldn't be allowed to happen. If he ran all the goldcloaks and the few other men that he had gathered here would break as well, and the siege would be over, along with his life.

He had several ideas to stop that damn ram from breaking open the gate, but those men manning it were insane. Even covered in boiling water they tried to keep on, and there were always more, shouting about some Lord of Light. He knew someone by that name, that man, Thoros of Myr, had been preaching about him. A thoroughly dull god if you asked Tyrion, all these terrors of the dark night, or whatever it was. But these men, they were fanatics. Normal men would just have given up, run away, or something like that. It's what his men would do, and it certainly was what he would do.

And then the gate burst open. He had already sent the Hound and as many goldcloaks as he could gather there, to try to fight them back. At that moment Joffrey decided to chime in again: "Uncle, I don't want to be here anymore."

He looked at his nephew: "Do you see those men? They are fighting to keep you alive and on the throne. If you leave, they will break, and the city will fall. As long as you stay here, you will inspire them, and we may still survive this day."

The king looked to his feet, and muttered something incomprehensible when another goldcloak appeared. "Your grace, milord, Ser Hectar sent me to report that he sees an army marching on the Old Gate."

"An army? What sort of army? Did Ser Hectar happen to see any banners?", Tyrion asked, hoping that is was his father, coming to save them all along with Jaime. And those new Northern allies, that would be the first good news of the day. But for some reason he didn't trust in that.

"I do not know, milord, they were still far away."

"Then be a good boy and return to the Old Gate, and come back to me when you know more."

The young man bowed and ran off again, returning to his post. Or so Tyrion hoped, he might also just decide to hide somewhere in the city, probably with his family. And that might be a good idea, considering that his men were being pushed back. Their position, on top of the gate, might soon see them all cut off, and then cut down. Another prospect he didn't like.

"Your grace, listen very carefully to me, we are going to do a fighting withdrawal to the Red Keep. With some luck your grandfather is approaching from the north, but for him to save us, we first have to survive this. But we can't be seen running, then everyone will start running, and that would be dangerous. So, we will be calmly heading down, into the streets. And we are going to encourage the men."

Joffrey looked at him with a mixed face. On one hand he looked afraid, but at the same time he could see that the boy was trying to gather his courage. That was a good thing, with some courage they might still survive this to get back to the keep. The city however, no matter how much he liked it, wouldn't. But hopefully the looting and burning would distract the enemy for long enough for him to get away, pack his things, and salvage something of the situation.

"Your grace, your father was a great warrior. Let's make him proud."

And with that they went down the stairs, towards the din of battle. Tyrion saw the horses, and would have loved just climbing onto them, and running for it to the Holdfast, surrounded by Kingsguard and other knights. But for some reason he didn't. He instead looked at the battle, and sighed. His nephew was actually trying to get into the fight, waving his sword around. Luckily the Kingsguard would keep him relatively safe.

But then another king entered the fray, one looking more like one than Joffrey ever could. A man with a crown on his grey steel helmet. And wielding a burning sword. The tales were true then, he had joined in with the red priests, and he was coming right at the center of the defenders, Sandor Clegane. Somehow the huge man was actually stepping back from his enemy, the first time Tyrion had seen him do that. And to make things worse, it almost looked as though he was recoiling.

And that, unfortunately, was enough for the goldcloaks. One of them turned around and started to run, and was quickly followed by one of his friends. One quickly became everyone, except those who were too stupid to recognize a lost cause. And with that it was decided, no rousing speech, although he had gone through a lot of wine to prepare one in his head. Ah well, there might be a time for it later on, but for now, he had another priority.

Luckily the others were seeing sense as well, but perhaps a bit too much of it. Joffrey was already running to the horses, accompanied by almost all the Kingsguard, and quite a few other knights. Basically everyone, except for loyal Podrick, and Mandon Moore, his loyal sworn shield. Tyrion also started to run to the horses, but he was stopped by the knight. "This battle is lost, we have to run."

"No", Moore answered, and his sword came down at Tyrion. Luckily, for him at least, the knight was used to taller opponents, and the blow slammed into his helmet. It wasn't as lucky as it could have been, because he was still knocked to the ground, and for a few moments it was black before his eyes.


	24. 24 Sansa I

**SANSA**

Sansa felt frightened, with Ser Ilyn Payne watching over her, carrying her father's sword. She feels anxious, and looks at the queen. Cersei looks even more worried, and is commanding servants to bring her more and more wine. Suddenly the doors burst open, and two kingsguard knights, Mandon Moore, and Osmund Kettleblack. The knights seemed wary, and almost ran to the queen.

"Your grace", Ser Osmund spoke, "You must come with us. The city is falling, but we might yet escape."

The queen rose from her seat, a bit unsteadily when Ser Mandon added: "I am sorry to report that your brother has fallen in battle, your grace."

And the queen smiled: "That is really unfortunate! Where is my son?"

"He is with Ser Balon and Ser Meryn, at the stables."

"Ser Ilyn, take lady Stark. We are leaving this blasted place!"

Sansa was pulled up by the tongueless knight, and was almost dragged away, behind the Kingsguard. Ser Osmund was supporting the queen, who was swaying as she walked, and still smiling.

Outside, the city was burning. It was hard to miss it, the yellow glow in the sky, the smoke. At the stables several more knights were assembled, almost all of those who spoke with the queen or the king. Ser Lancel was already mounted, blood on his armour. Several of the others looked wounded as well. Sansa was placed on a horse, tied to that of Ser Illyn, and when everyone was mounted, they rode off. In front of the group were two of the Kingsguard, along with more than half of the knights. Behind them came the king and queen, flanked by the other two Kingsguard. Sansa was behind them, along with several other ladies. They did not wear riding dresses, but they thought that this would be better than being left behind.

By their sides and behind them there were more knights, most of them highborn men. Sansa could recognize the colours of several of the most important houses of the Crownlands, and several others from further away. Not of of the lords were young men, some were too old or too young for battle, but they all shared one trait, they were loyal to the king, and well-armed.

The column headed out from the keep, away from the river. To the North. She heard something about the Old Gate being unsafe, and the party was keeping to the wall, Sansa presumed that they were going to the Iron Gate. There were people in the streets, she couldn't see them, but she heard them. And when she looked down, she saw their broken forms on the ground. What however was the strangest was that they were not fleeing from them. To her left she saw a woman holding a babe pushing herself against a house, terror in her eyes.

Suddenly everyone came to a stop, and Sansa tried to look between those in front of her. It was made easier, because they were spreading out. Joffrey shouted, with a clear tremble in his voice: "What is happening? Why are we stopping? I demand that we continue!"

"Your grace", came a similarly shouted answer, only slightly less frightened, "there are soldiers ahead of us. We can't see them very well through the smoke, but they are not answering our calls. Ser Meryn is preparing a charge to swipe this rabble away."

He looked around, with his cruel smile. "Did you hear that mother? We're going to run down these fools."

Finally Sansa could see through the men. There were two lines ahead of her, beyond that only the smoke that was almost covering the whole city. And in that smoke she could barely make out silhouettes of people. They did not move, until another shape appeared, and a strong wind came from nowhere, blowing the smoke away.

It revealed a sight of madness, something that could only exist in Old Nan's tales. In front of them stood skeletons, fires burning in their eyes and gripping rusty weapons. Almost everyone was recoiling, the horses barely kept under control. In front of the dead stood a woman in a black dress. No, not a dress, she was wearing black plate, and flowers in her red hair. In her left hand she had a mace, and the right was empty. All alone she walked towards the royal party.

"Hotep di neswat wsir xenty imntiw natranb abdawwip wawt nib ta dasr!", she intoned, in a strange tongue. She wondered what that could mean, when men behind her started shouting, and horses started to buckle. She looked back, and saw the formerly broken forms of the people that had been run down by the knights unsteadily stand up, clutching anything they could as weapons.  
While everyone was still in shock the strange lady spoke again, clearly comprehensible despite the complete lack of any shouting: "I am countess Sybille von Carstein! Throw down your arms and surrender. I do not mean to wipe my new city from this world."

It seemed as though her eyes were boring right into Sansa's, and she felt more afraid than she ever had. Joffrey was silenced, and looked at his mother. She however also said nothing, merely looking at the stranger, who continued: "Seeing your devices, I would be tempted to guess that that young man over there would be king Joffrey Baratheon, escorted by his mother, queen Cersei Lannister. I am truly sorry to inform you that I have killed your Hand and ancestor, lord Tywin Lannister. I hope that you can cope with your loss. Just like you can cope with some other losses. But I assure you, sir Jaime remains perfectly unharmed in my custody. But enough family talk. Please surrender before I have to kill you all."

"I demand that you ride down this woman!", Joffrey shouted, without much in the way of initial response from the knight. "I am your king and I demand it!"

Finally they started moving, charging right at von Carstein. She however started to run herself, not to hide behind her warriors, but right towards the men who rode at her. She moved as a blur, almost too fast to watch, and Sansa saw men and horses start to fall, having suffered the most terrible wounds. Whole limbs were crushed to a paste, even steel plates were reduce to scraps under the force of the blows, and they came so quickly. It was then that her horse truly panicked, it was not one of the trained battle-mounts of the knights, and she was thrown from the saddle.

She was unprepared for it, and she felt a horrible pain burning through her leg. She screamed and looked down, to see it in a strange angle. To make things worse, she saw that Joffrey was turning around as well, to flee this battle. From all sides she heard screams and curses, and tried to crawl away, to a semblance of safety.

But in the midst of this madness there was none. Behind them, a wall of dead people approached, they were surrounded, and the skeletons were advancing as well. Even over the battle their steps could be heard, in perfect unison, through the burning city. She lost track of where everyone was, too distracted by trying to avoid the hooves of panicked horses.

Throughout all this the lady kept speaking, seeming calm despite being in the midst of a battle: "Lay down your arms in surrender. It will be accepted."

Sansa saw a man fall down next to her, ser Ilyn, his breastplate caved in with blood leaking out. In his hands he held a sword, which clattered to the ground, uselessly. Ice. Mere moments later she briefly saw black cloth, but it was gone before she could see it fully. Finally she heard the king cry out: "I surrender! Surrender!"


	25. 25 Jerome II

**JÉRÔME**

The attack was going exactly as the countess had predicted. The living had been focused on fighting each other, and he and Beck had quickly taken the gate that they had been assigned to attack. He had not been informed of his lady's progress, but her attack would have easily been as successful. The gate had been very lightly defended. The distasteful weapons hadn't even been needed, although they had been prepared for use. The countess had said that they should only be revealed when needed. And that was not now. The walls had been in a state of ill repair, and lightly held at that. Mere ladders had been sufficient to take them, and then the army could march in.

They had been divided into four groups. Together with him Merten went through the central northern gate, the Old Gate according to the maps. He then turned to the west, to take the other gates in sequence, and allow more of his forces to enter. Jérôme himself had marched right to the south, under orders to avoid putting too many commoners to the sword. The countess said that she wanted living servants. He was directing his warriors to take a hill, the climb was steep, but it was where many of the defenders had fled to. There was a temple there, and it was his task to take it before continuing, to link up again with Beck at the southern part of the hill, where the countess expected the invaders to be concentrated.

The other two attacks had gone through a gate to the east of his, the Dragon Gate. From there, von Greif was leading an attack to take a ruin on top of the northernmost hill. From there he would continue to the south, to secure the so-called Mud Gate. The final force was the strongest, led by the countess herself, supported by von Lorenz. She would march directly to the south, securing first one more gate for another part of her force, and then taking the most important part of the city, the keep, by storm.

The only disappointment was the lack of true battle. He had met few enemies who would fight, most would run as soon as he emerged from the smoke. Thing were changing however. Now he got closer to the crest of the hill there were more enemies, and they were putting up a more spirited defense. Fighting through a burning city would be difficult for those who still drew breath, the smoke in their lungs, the lack of air, the heat in the air. But he had no such flaws, not since the countess had gifted him eternal war.

A man appeared, trying to stab him with a spear. He easily swatted it aside and then cut him down where he stood, his old sword glowing with witchfire. It has served him well through the ages, ever since he left his castle behind to look for the holy grail. Instead he found something better than any divinity could offer. Service and clarity. He never doubted, he followed. It was true, now he commanded, but only in deference to the countess.

Another man fell to his sword. These last few, the defenders of the hill, looked different from the others. They wore different colours, not the gold cloaks of the city's men, but the colours of various noble houses. They were better armed as well, true men at arms. Finally he reached the top, where he faced a knight, in white and red. He parried Jérôme's first blow, but the second fell soon thereafter, and the magic of his blade let it slip easily through his armour.

Soon thereafter the defense broke, and he was no longer slogging up the hill. He could now carry forwards at a slight pace, although his warriors were not nearly as fast as when they were directly commanded by the countess. They were easily outrun by the fleeing mortals, but it was no matter to him. Even if they survived today, the countess would hunt down all her enemies. But still, it would feel good to let the cowards feel his steel in their backs.

He headed down the hill on the other side. To his right he could see Beck's force in an intense battle, against an actually determined foe. And down below there were more of them. They must be the invaders, and they were fighting, unlike the previous scum. To his left he could see von Greif fighting his way through the city. He had had an easier battle, he was further than he should have been by now. He must have encountered little resistance. Jérôme's own march down was unopposed as well for the first part, the new enemy still had order.


	26. 26 Sandor I

**SANDOR**

He was running, trying to find a place to hide. He was afraid, he knew it, but there was nothing to be done. Ever since what his fucking brother had done he had had only one fear. And then that man, with his burning sword. It was just too much, and he ran. He knew that they would kill him for it, but he didn't care. The Lannisters were done for. This battle was lost, and the war in the north was also being lost. No, now it was the time to make good his escape.

If it wasn't for a single problem. The whole city was burning. He cursed under his breath, as he had been doing ever since that fight. He was hiding in a small stone building, he knew that it wasn't safe, but it was better than fighting through dozens of men. But now he had to come out. Stannis' men were approaching, and they were combing through all the houses. He kicked open the door, and ran out, turning a corner. He shouted: "Fuck!"

Through the smoke he saw men approaching. They were shambling, right towards him. From the other side he saw Stannis' men approach, and he knew what he had to do. He ran into the newcomers, there would be no mercy from the lord of Dragonstone. Without thinking he lashed out with his sword, cutting down a smallfolk. A woman tried to grab him, but he slashed right through her head.

He kept advancing, cutting through these people who didn't seem to know when to stop. He noticed that many of them were already badly wounded, but they kept going. It reminded him of the tales that he had heard, coming from the north. And then, a man he knew.

"Mandon fucking Moore", he spat. The kingsguard's weakly raised his sword, and Sandor hesitated for a moment when he noticed that the right side of his head was just gone. It was enough for his former brother to attempt to strike him, but there was no skill at all in the blow, and it was easily sidestepped. He then cut off the head, and his foe fell. He saw more of the king's party, but the Hound failed to think about what this meant. He was focusing on cutting them all down.

He found a man with no chest, but with a familiar face, and a special sword. He cut as hard as he could, and actually let go of his blade, picking up the greatsword. This might actually give him a way to some favour, if he survived. It was a little lighter and shorter than his old sword, but when he swung it, he cut right through three of these people. He almost started laughing, before he saw the glow of the flames again.

He looked around, and saw that he was in danger of being surrounded. There was no end to these people, if they were people at all. They couldn't touch him, he cut them down with ease, but there were many, too many. Far too many. Behind these he saw others, but they were worse than these. They were mere skeletons, no flesh, only bones. And armed ones. That was enough for him, he had to get out of here. Not even Stannis could hold that against him.

A few moments later he had joined with his former enemies, they did not even try to attack him, focused as they were on fighting off the dead. He cut left and right, but they simply kept coming, and those skeletons were far more deadly than the others. He of course kept his distance from the Stag King, with his burning sword. The men were holding strong, and many of them shouted about a lord of light. Sandor spat on all sorts of gods, but if this one would keep him alive, he could tolerate it, barely.

The battle however was changing, men were tired and the tide of flesh stopped. Instead the skeletons came, in perfect ranks, the sound of their marching almost blocking out all others. They too were no great warriors, but more and more men were falling, and Sandor himself was feeling tired as well. But he didn't back away from a fight, these things, he could kill them. And killing was what he did best. Blow after blow he rained down on them, and they kept falling. He did not dare to retreat from the fighting, afraid of his newfound allies. But here they would not dare to harm him.

Something changed in the battle. He could see knights on the other side, but these were true warriors, cutting into their enemies with white swords. And another one. A woman, heading right towards Stannis. A knight got in her way, and he was flung through the air. Another's head was knocked right off. The men were stepping back, away from this monster. But Sandor had seen worse, he knew his brother.

Stannis tried to strike, but his sword was knocked from his hand, flying through the air. This was the moment, he had to act. If he failed now, everyone would run, and he would die here. Instead he charged at the bitch, crushing his way through several of the skeletons that guarded her. She was saying something, having grabbed Stannis in her hand. He however couldn't hear it, and brought down the Valyrian steel.

It cut right through the black cloth and flowers in her hair, and drove deep into her skull, cutting it in half. There was a brief look of surprise on her face, and then she fell. As she fell, she started turning to ash. Starting from the wound, she just disappeared. Not only her body crumbled, but her dress as well. All that remained were ashes, carried away by the wind.


	27. 27 Arya IX

**ARYA**

Being back with her mother and brother made her truly happy, especially in the knowledge that Sybille would be saving Sansa. She hadn't had a moment for herself since she arrived here, but now she was finally alone in the small storage room. In the middle of the room stood the large chest that she had been given by the countess. It was large and black, and it had taken six men to carry it here. Her mother didn't like it, and she had the feeling that she was trying to keep her away from it. But now she had time for herself, all the others were in some important discussion, and she could slip away.

She had only a single candle with her, but even in the dim light it was clear that this was no ordinary chest. It was solid, held together by thick bands of steel. Arya looked over it, and quickly undid the locks. The lid was heavy, thick wood, and hard to open. Slowly she lifted it, until it slammed down and she looked inside. The candlelight reflected off something, and she took the candlestick, to hold it over the contents. What she saw almost made her heart stop. On top of a black cloth there was a suit of armour. Silvery steel plates. She was looking at the legs, running up to knees with skulls surrounded by golden wreaths. Further up the steel remained blank, except for strange ridges covering the suit. Only the breastplate was decorated, with a golden cross, which got thicker closer to the ends, and under it, two strange symbols. Finally she saw the helmet, again with a golden wreath on top of it. No knight in Westeros had such armour, so finely made. But it was far too large for her, sized for a fully grown man. And a particularly tall one at that.

She wondered if it was perhaps another of those knights, like Antonius. He had worn armour like that. Just like one of the others. But there was no movement, and she walked over to the other side, and opened the helmet's visor. There was nothing under it, except another note, in Sybille's hand.

"Dearest Arya,

This armour was forged Karaz-a-Karak by one of the dwarven runesmiths. This means little to you, but I am certain that one night you will know all this. The armour is not mere steel, it bears the magic of the dwarfs, bound into runes. It is made to fit who wears and owns it, if you take the breastplate, take your own blood and trace the forms of the runes on the inside with it, while saying Bin klad or umgi drengar grobkaz. It will then recognize you as its owner. There are other things as well, but they require no explanation. I hope that this suit will serve you well."

The armour was not as heavy as she had expected, and she started removing it from the chest. All of the pieces, and everything made to fit underneath. And as Sybille had written, there were strange runes on the inside of the breastplate. She took Needle, and made a cut in her finger. She wondered how to pronounce the words, but still she tried, while following the runes with her bleeding finger. It hurt a little, but she had been through worse, far worse. Like her father's murder. She spoke the words, like she thought they should be spoken. But when she was finished nothing happened.

She looked at the armour, disappointed, when she noticed something. It was starting to shrink. She knew that magic was real, she had spent time with the countess, she had seen her kill hundreds with just her words, but still this surprised her. She wanted to put it on, but she couldn't. She would need someone to help her. But who? She couldn't just ask anyone, they would just call her strange, and refuse to do it. In Winterfell she could have asked Jon, but he wasn't there anymore, he was at the wall now. If he was still alive.

She shook of those thoughts, and removed the black velvet on which the armour had been resting. Below it she saw several weapons, a sword, daggers, a small crossbow and even a short spear. But there was more, there were several books. She took out one, on the cover, in golden script it said: The Great War Against Chaos, and she turned it open. It was the strangest book she had ever looked into. The letters were so neat, they almost seemed as though they hadn't been written at all, that they were somehow forced onto the paper.

The book was about a war, where horrible monsters had come from the north against a divided realm. She only looked at it briefly, before turning to others. Some were clearly handwritten, such as A History Of the Most Illustrious City Of Lahmia. But it seemed a little dull. Something like the tales of Gotrek Gurnisson seemed much more entertaining.

She started reading through it, finding out about the dwarfs, which were stout warriors, brave in battle and loyal. Not at all like the imp. And all the battles, it seemed so thrilling. And then she understood, that was where Sybille was from. A world torn by far larger wars, where monsters were everywhere. Like those awful skaven and goblins, and orcs and trolls. No wonder that Sybille, despite her cruelty, was a good person. It was the only thing that worked where she was from, and maybe also in this place.

She didn't know how long she was there, but she heard voices, calling her name. It must have been long then. She carefully put everything back, taking only the book with her, smiling. When she went back to Sybille, she would actually know the woman.


	28. 28 Catelyn VI

**CATELYN**

After meeting with the lords Catelyn had gone to her rooms, where her daughter should have been. But she wasn't there. Panic rises in her heart. Where is she? Has she been taken? Who took her? Where was she taken?

With all these thoughts in her head she starts to search, calling out her daughter's name. Aided by several of the servants. Finally she remembered that awful chest, a gift from the lady of the dead, who was starting to be called the Night's Queen by the servants, and now some knights and ladies as well. If it had been up to her, it would have been burned and Arya would never go to her. Just like she wanted to never let any of her children leave her side again. But it was impossible. Robb was already riding to war again, to the North, to free her sons. She had wished him good luck, with the only other child who was free by her side. It had been hard to not cry, but she couldn't do that. Not in front of the army.

But now she didn't think of that. She only thought of Arya, afraid that someone had taken her, an enemy, a spy or an assassin. She hadn't forgotten what had been done to her poor Bran, a man, sent in the night. Not to slay a lord or a knight, but to slay a child. Her child. Her poor, crippled, son. Who had first been thrown from a wall. And now he, and Rickon, were captives, as was her eldest daughter. But at least she had the promise of von Carstein that Sansa would be saved. For some reason Catelyn believed her.

Finally she saw a servant, only a girl, holding Arya. As always since she returned her daughter had refused to wear a dress, saying that it would get in the way, and she preferred other clothes. The clothes she had been given by the witch. Those awful black things, reminding her that her child would soon be leaving her side again. And she insisted on carrying that sword of hers. A gift from the bastard, who had always sought to undermine everything Catelyn did. But she would never have to see him again, the mere thought of him hurt her to the very core of her soul. She didn't like those things, but they were completely overshadowed by her happiness of having at least one of her children back.

Then she saw something else, something that makes every mother fear. Blood. On her daughter's hand. Clearly she had tried to clean it off, but still it was there. Catelyn rushed over to her daughter, grasping her in both arms: "Where were you!? What happened?!"

She couldn't see her daughter's face, but at least she answered: "I was just walking around the castle."

"You should be more careful, Arya, something might have happened to you. Someone could have tried to hurt you.", her voice was soft, afraid that someone might hear.

"If they try, I am ready for them. I have my sword, and I can fight.", her daughter replied defiantly.

"Many men have thought that, but you are still a girl, and girls simply can't fight. We are weaker than men, and the battlefield is not our place."

Arya slipped free from her embrace: "Sybille fights, and she is stronger than any man. She defeated the Mountain! And she thinks that I can fight too. She had one of her knights train me, and I was by her side on the battlefield. I can protect myself. And Brienne also fights. She said so herself."

Again that blasted von Carstein. Catelyn knows her plan, to take her daughter away from her, to lead her into the darkness. Away from the Seven Who Are One, so she could be dragged into whichever of the seven hells the monster came from. She was a demon made flesh, as some of the smallfolk were starting to say. And Catelyn knew that it had been wrong to treat with such a monster. It would cost her her soul, she knew that, but at least she could save her children. If von Carstein didn't take them for herself, like she had taken all those lands.

"But still, you have to be careful. She is no ordinary woman. She is a sorceress, and sorcery never ends well. The Seven forbid it for a reason. I just want you to be safe."

"But she was kind to me. She helped me, she took care of me."

This was something that Catelyn had already expected to come up at some point: "But what if she did that because you are a Stark? The sister of a king?"

For one of the first times she could remember her daughter did not have an answer ready. She seemed to start saying something, but let another pause fall before the answer came: "But, ehm, she did not know that when we first met. She did not even know about the kingdoms, or anything. Not even the Wall, or Westeros."

That slightly reassured Catelyn, especially when she remembered her own conversation with the woman, the secret one. She had seen a caring person, someone who could understand mothers. She wondered if she was a mother too. She had the right age for one. But she had spoken as though she knew about letting children go, when they were older. She obviously was too young for that.

She turned the conversation to another subject, away from this. "My child, you are bleeding. What happened?"

Arya immediately looked down at her finger, which had a clear cut across its top. "I, ehm, cut myself on a page of a book."

In her other hand she still held a tome, with a strangely thin cover, with a drawing of an almost-naked short man with a crest upright hair and a long beard who carried a massive axe. She found it disconcerting. Above the figure was a title: Tales of Gotrek Gurnisson: Trollslayer. She had never seen a book like it, not even letters like those, and she asked: "What is that book?"

"A gift from Sybille. This one is about a dwarf who has sworn a vow to die in battle!"

Catelyn sighed, it would take all her efforts to guide her child to the right path.

What Arya wanted was dangerous, her desire to seek danger, battles were a dangerous place, and infinitely more so for a lady, although Arya couldn't understand that yet. But she understood the desire to be able to protect herself. But it was hard, she was just her little girl, not a knight. And that reminded her. "That sounds like a thrilling tale to read. Did she give you many gifts?"

"Yes, a chest full!"

"And what other things did she give you, in that chest?"

Arya blurted out, obviously happy: "A suit of plate! Dozens of books! And weapons!"

The enthusiasm was overwhelming, and Catelyn knew that there was nothing to be done about it. Von Carstein had been right, all mothers must let their daughters go. But she would not let her go unprotected: "And those arms, what will you do with them?"

"I promised Antonius that I would learn to use all of them, that when I came back I would defeat him."

"But then you need someone to teach you. Lady Brienne would love to do so."


	29. 29 Sansa II

**SANSA**

She was still on the ground, along with the other captives, the lords and ladies. And of course Cersei and Joffrey. Sansa was in pain, her leg still hurt, even after the brief attentions of their captor, the lady in black. She had put on a brace, held in place by the cloak taken from one of the kingsguard. She forgot which, as they, the ones who had died, had walked away. Joffrey had protested against this, claiming that he deserved her attention, as the king. Her reaction had been horrifying, Sansa had seen and heard it even through her pain. The lady had smiled, and said: "Do not interrupt ladies as they are enjoying each other's company."

She walked over to him, and lifted his bound hands. Sansa had almost smiled, she had never seen him so afraid. And then she dragged him over to her, "It would be most civilized if you would apologize."

He stammered that he was sorry, and then she did it. She took the little finger of his right hand, grasping it in her own gloved hand. And she squeezed, while saying: "Just as a reminder to never be impolite to me again."

He screamed, louder than she had ever heard anyone scream. It made her a little sick, but at the same time she felt that he deserved it. Moments later the lady let go, and Joffrey was still screaming, just like the queen. Tears ran over his face, and his finger, it no longer was one. Only shreds of flesh still hung from his hand where it had been, and the lady wiped some bloody mess from her hand.

Thinking back to it almost made her smile. Finally someone treated him as he deserved. But at the same time she was mortally afraid of these wights. Even if they had a wolf banner. It was not that of her family, and her family did not make the dead rise. Only sorcerers did that. Silently she was praying, like she thought many of the others would be doing. And she was wondering about who the lady was. She had marched on with most of her force after the brief fight, leaving only silent skeletal guardians behind for the bound group of captives.

Joffrey was still whimpering, lying in his mother's lap when one of the skeletons just fell to the ground, falling apart into bones, no more fire in its eyes. One by one others followed, until all of them were on the ground. But no one could move, tightly bound, and also bound together by the dead. Then smallfolk started appearing from the houses, coming towards the royal party. And again Sansa was afraid. She remembered the riots all too well.

They were wary as well, even as some of the knights were trying to gain weapons from the fallen dead. Finally Ser Osmund managed to grab hold of a rusty sword, and started cutting himself loose. She was almost praying for him to succeed, but also for him to fail. She feared both the king and the mob in equal measure.

But the mob disappeared back into the smoke, at the approach of more men. They were led by a knight, mounted on a great armoured steed, with a cat's head on his helmet and clad in steel plates. He advanced calmly, carrying a sword and a shield. He came closer and closer, followed by footmen. She looked at his shield, wondering who he was. It was blue, with a golden cat on it. Strangely, the cat had black dots over it. She did not know any such house. He wore a cloak of yellowish fur, also with black spots on it. He seemed wealthy, but Sansa couldn't remember any house with such colours.

Then she noticed the men who followed him. They were no men. They were skeletons, dressed in the remnants of armour and brandishing spears. She swallowed, the dead were coming back. But not in an endless tide this time. Maybe only a hundred. Ser Osmund was cutting loose the queen, but he froze when he saw the dead. The strange knight spoke, softly, monotonously. As if the voice came from a great distance: "COME OR DIE"

From the southern edge of the small square another force arrived, led by one she knew. The lady's standard bearer, but she herself was nowhere to be seen. The dead walked towards the bound men, and Ser Osmund turned and ran as fast as he could.

"MY LADY, YOU MUST NOT WALK", the knight spoke from his high horse, which she could now see to be skeletal, and he dismounted. He lay his shield on the ground and sheathed his sword while kneeling down next to her. He then lifted her up in his armoured arms, letting her lie over the horse.

"Thank you", she muttered despite the pain flaring up in her leg. Lying folded over the saddle was far from comfortable, but she admired the knightly behavior of the man. She wondered if he was the black lady's husband. He was silent, no command was given and still the dead cut the bindings on the legs of the others. They were surrounded by a few of the armoured skeletons, while the knight led the horse that she was on. She asked: "Excuse me, ser, but might I, aw, ask you your name?"

"ANTONIUS VON GREIF", he answered, after a short silence. She saw the others dragged to their feet by the skeletons, and they left, no faster than a leisurely walk, not the brisk pace of marching men.


	30. 30 Sandor II

**SANDOR**

After the woman had crumbled to ashes the dead became just that, dead. They just collapsed where they stood, no longer bound by anything. Bones clattered to the ground in heaps, although pockets remained, mostly around the few armoured warriors amongst them. But he didn't care. He was tired, frightened and surrounded by dead bodies. And a king. A king who he had been fighting against earlier in the day. He turned towards the man, the one who would now take the city. And he knelt, holding his captured sword in front of him.

"Your grace, I, Sandor Clegane, swear fealty to you.", he hated those words. He was no man's slave. But he preferred it over dying. And especially since he heard the rumours, of Stannis burning his enemies alive.

In a gruff voice the king answered: "You led men against me. You served a usurper. You killed my men."

Another voice dropped in, a sonorous woman's and Sandor saw her. She was beautiful and red. But she also was terrifying, like a bonfire: "He will serve you, my king, the Lord of Light will let him see the truth."

He wanted to say something about a fucking lord of light, but being alone, at the mercy of someone who thought highly of that lord made him reconsider. He didn't want to burn. "I will serve you, your grace, and your Lord of Light."

"Then rise, Sandor Clegane. And fight for me to free this city from the grasp of usurpers."

The dead were being pushed back. Many of them simply fell where they stood, collapsing like puppets cut loose. Just heaps of bones and rusty weapons. The few fully armoured knights that seemed to be like commanders, we withdrawing, how knightly, while leaving most of their warriors behind, to hold back the tide of Stannis' men. The dead no longer were the major thread. That honour went to the fires. They were not only caused by the attackers and accidents, but also by hidden caches of wildfire, which were starting to combine into an evergrowing inferno. Sandor only wanted to leave the city, but he couldn't run now, not surrounded by men who would like nothing more than to cut off his head.

More and more people were flowing towards them, unarmed, smallfolk. Not soldiers. And they were fleeing.

A knight approached the king: "Your grace, do we let them through?"

The king ground his teeth: "They are my people, and I will not let them die. Allow them passage, if it does not slow down the advance."

Openings appeared in the ranks of the advancing men, and thousands of people rushed through, and Sandor only wanted to join them. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and this city certainly was one.

With terror in his chest Sandor followed Stannis, back into the city, into the fire. It was spreading rapidly, not merely red and yellow like ordinary flames, but also green. He found it hard to keep going, and had tears in his eyes. He was sweating profusely, and not only from the heat as they walked over the River Row. One of the knights, a man he didn't know, spoke: "Your grace, we cannot advance, it is too hot, there is too little air. We will all burn."

"I will not be denied my price. Push on.", he answered, gruffly.

The lady in red added in her mysterious accent: "My king, the city is a sacrifice to the Lord of Light, withdraw, today is not the day that you will claim your throne. You will do that when He has had his due. You will be crowned in flames, for all the world to see that you are Azor Azai reborn."

He ground his teeth, while his men were actually retreating from the fire. "Give the order to abandon the city. Let the refugees use my bridge and the ships. They will not be a sacrifice. When the fires have burned I claim my throne."


	31. 31 Davos II

**DAVOS**

He had seen the city where he was born burn, and there was little that he could do, except for letting refugees cross the river, to safety. Most of them had nothing more than they carried in their hands, and many had suffered burns or were simply exhausted. It was almost impossible to feed them all, and the fires were still burning. Stannis was constantly staring at the city, and Davos knew why. His king wanted nothing more than to take his throne, but it was beyond his reach, if it would even survive the flames engulfing all of King's Landing.

People were in shock, not only by the flames and the battle, but also by the impossible thing that happened within those walls. Davos couldn't believe it at first, wights. Such nonsense. There was no such thing. The dead didn't walk. Not in King's Landing. But it was true, everyone said it, and even Stannis had confirmed it. The red woman had claimed that they were the followers of the Great Other, but he suspected that they were the work of sorcery. He had heard about a sorceress, and once she had fallen to Clegane's sword, the dead had collapsed.

He had taken part of the fleet to land on the other side of the city, but there was no one there, only thousands of encamped refugees. He decided not to go ashore, they did not have the food for them now. That would only happen when other parts of the Seven Kingdoms bent the knee. But there was little news of such things, but there also was no word from the Lannisters. Nothing at all. Not a trace of an army.

Finally the flames were dying down, and it was time for the king to claim his price. He rode at the head of his column, at the makeshift bridge that had been prepared by Davos. Dozens of lords and knights followed him, representatives from all the houses that supported the true king of Westeros. It was not the most splendorous gathering of such a kind, but they had won the city. The delay before taking the city had allowed Stannis to bring his wife and daughter to be present as he took the Iron Throne.

He was close behind the king, despite his low birth. They rode through ashes, and what obviously were the remains of people. The smell was sickening, burned meat and other things that he did not want to think of. It was clear that great horrors had taken place here, and he pitied all the people trapped by the walls and the flames. To his left he saw the great sept of Baelor, or what was left of it. Another burned out husk, half-collapsed. So much had been lost, so many dead. And still they continued. He could see that the princess was not feeling well, but she kept strong, and remained on her horse. Throughout the city there still were small fires, but no more great blazes.

Slowly they approached the Red Keep. The gates were opened, and obviously suffered damage from the fire, most of the wood was gone. He wondered if this was what it was like when there were still dragons, whole cities burned to ashes. No wonder that all of Westeros bent the knee. The mere sight of the city was horrifying, more so even than a battlefield. He saw a few people slipping through the ruins, keeping their distance from the armed party, he didn't even want to know how they had suffered.

Through the gates there were more survivors, all of them bowing to Stannis, but they would have bowed to anyone who came through that gate with an army. Everyone dismounted, aided by the many soldiers that had been brought along, and they marched into the Great Hall. It was unburned, kept safe through the fires, even though there were still bodies there, but they were not burned beyond any hope of recognition, like those outside. But they were not the bodies that had to be found, those of the false king and his closest relatives. There was no trace of them.

Stannis walked towards the throne, filled with purpose. He was flanked by his two queens, the true queen, and that witch who had saved them all. But still, she was evil, she burned men alive. She was a sorceress, just like the one who had raised the dead. The king set the last steps to his throne alone, he walked at a brisk pace, leaving everyone behind before he turned around and sat down. Even now, with his goal achieved, he did not smile. He never smiled.

The red woman spoke: "Blessed by the Lord of Light, his mortal champion made flesh, Azor Ahai, your king has taken his throne!"


	32. 32 Sandor III

**SANDOR**

The city was a poor excuse for one, Sandor thought to himself. Just a burned out husk, with some fires still burning in the distance. He hated it. He might not have liked the old city, but this was even worse. The stench of death was everywhere, and nowhere a tavern to get properly drunk, as a coronation warranted. He hated every bit of it, and this one was even worse, with all the fire and that red priestess, going on and on about her god who would burn them all. Not the kind of got that he would worship. He looked into the darkness of the night, the woman had said that it was full of terrors, but they were not nearly as great as her own. He had heard what she did, and even been forced to witness it. Burning men alive, for nothing more than holding beliefs. She was little better than his brother.

For a moment he thought that he saw something move through the darkness, but when he looked, he saw nothing. Sandor Clegane however was not a stupid man, despite what they might say behind his back. He knew that the city was mostly undefended, and he was far from popular. He held his captured sword in both hands, ready to swing.

He listened closely, but there was nothing to be heard, or to be seen. He had been nervous for days now, fearing that Stannis would order his execution, or mutilation, like he had done to that fool, Davos. To have his fingers cut off, he would never have accepted that. Not for any knightly title.

Then he felt something sharp, pressing into his throat. "It would be wise to not make any sound.", a soft woman's voice whispered, "I have not come to kill you, but I will not mourn you. Nod your head if you understand me."

He nodded, cursing his luck, and wondering what kind of madwoman this was. He suspected the priestess, even if she sounded a bit different. Or perhaps one of her agents. Or perhaps a survivor from the city, who blamed him for its burning. Whatever the weapon was, it was sharp, and drawing blood. "Now, you are going to lower your sword, and I will take it. Do not try anything, you won't like it if you do."

He did as he was told, and he felt the weight of the heavy greatsword lifted from his hands, and the weapon at his throat disappearing. "You and me, we are going for a little walk through the city. Do not be afraid, I want you as a messenger, not as another corpse. There are plenty of those."

The woman remained behind him, occasionally telling him where to go. He did look down, and saw that his dagger had been taken from his belt, and he wondered if he had been captured with his own weapon. He couldn't hear his captor's steps, but she seemed to know where she wanted to go.

Finally they reached a strange object. A large wooden beam lying on the ground, and close to the top another, shorter beam crossed it. He wondered what it meant, he hadn't seen much intact wood in the city, not after all the fires. He looked around, and saw the ruin of the great sept. He knew exactly where he was. The place where he had earned his survival from Stannis' wrath, the place where he had cut down the witch.

"Now, herr Clegane, would you kindly lie down? I do not want to make this any more unpleasant than I want it to be. Right there, on the cross, facing the sky. You should stretch your arms over the shorter beam. It's just a little tradition, nothing too unpleasant."

His heart was beating louder and he started to sweat. It must be revenge then, from the dead. Maybe even a relative of the witch. He was not going to just let himself be tortured. So, he did the sane thing. He started to run as fast as he could.

After only a few steps he felt a sharp kick, and his legs went up in the air, causing him to crash down. "Fuck. What do you want?"

He looked up, and saw a face he certainly had not expected. "You are dead. I fucking killed you."

She looked down at him: "Please, herr Clegane, try to be polite. Your vocabulary is truly offensive, no way to speak to a lady. And don't make the error of presuming that death is an obstacle. I cannot be stopped. And that is what I want you to tell your king. Tell him to surrender to me, and he will be spared my wrath. And now, there is this little traditional thing we have to do. Do not resist, I don't want to have to break your bones."

She took his arms, and with seeming ease dragged him to the cross. He didn't know what to say. This was impossible. No human being could have survived that. He had cut that head right off. He had seen it tumble to the ground before she crumbled to dust, blown into the wind. But she had led the dead from their graves, that wasn't natural either. She was truly unstoppable then.

His arms were tied to the shorter beam, and then she smiled at him. "This is going to hurt a lot, but don't worry, you are a strong man. You will last for days. And your friends should reach you before that happens."

He wanted to ask what was going to hurt, but then he saw her produce an iron spike and a hammer, and placed it just above his wrist. "Fucking let me go! Don't do this!"

But she merely smiled, and hammered the spike through his arm, into the cross. He screamed, shouting as loud as he could. For anything, anyone. The pain was worse than the burning of his face. There was no response, only the same soft voice: "Consider this a mercy. You will live through this, unlike what I will do with your brother. Your time will come later."

And she hammered in the other spike. He didn't dare to move his hands, afraid of more pain. She wanted him to bring a message to Stannis, he might live through this. And she said so too. He clung to that thought, through the pain. Finally she stopped, and he dared to breathe again. And then he felt his boots being removed. He whimpered: "No, no, please, stop. Just stop."

"Once the path is chosen, it cannot be changed."

He tried to kick, but his right leg was seized, he couldn't move, even if she held it in only one thin hand. She calmly forced it towards the wood, and he tried kicking her away with his other leg. "What did I tell you about behaving? If you don't stop now, I will break your legs, and you will never walk again, even after they find you."

He stopped, clinging his jaws together through the pain. When she was done she took the cross in both hands, and started to lift it. And he screamed his lungs out as it was placed upright.


	33. 33 Sansa III

**SANSA**

She lay alone in the tent that she had been provided with by von Greif. The young lady couldn't sleep, not even now it was days ago. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw the poor people being crushed by the hooves of the horses, and something even worse, more unnerving. The dead, walking. Closing in on her. All her dreams were the same, always with the horrifying dead people, amongst them everyone who she loved, and Joffrey screaming for her head.

Sometimes however it was different. Sometimes a true knight would appear, dressed in blue, with a golden, black-dotted cat on his shield. Ser Antonius. She knew him to be a knight, he must be. He was gallant, although he did not speak much. And she had never seen his face, always hidden below the helmet. She wondered what he would look like, she didn't trust on him being handsome, but certainly hoped for it.

The camp was silent, it almost always was. Most of the dead soldiers were massed at the side of the city that had burned. Antonius had told her that she wasn't a prisoner, but it felt like it. She was not kept bound like most of the others, who were kept in other tents. She had not seen them, but when she passed them by, she could hear them talk. She however never went far, she wasn't allowed to, and wouldn't test the patience of her skeletal guards.

But there were sounds now. A woman's voice. It sounded commanding, but she could not make out what was being said. She got up, and quickly put on her dress, missing someone to help her with it, or even a replacement. It was something that she would normally never do, more something for her sister, to wear a dirty dress. But she felt that she had no choice in the matter. Her captors had not given her a replacement, but Antonius had explained that they had been travelling light, and that his countess, whatever that might be, had not brought anything in her size. Of course, she had asked about the countess, but encountered only silence on the topic. But apparently it was a woman, and she suspected that it was the lady in black, who had led the bloody attack.

In her dirty dress she left the tent, to see Antonius stand in front of the entrance, and no trace of the lady she had heard. When she emerged, he bowed: "MY LADY. THE COUNTESS REQUESTS THAT YOU STAY INSIDE THE TENT, IT WILL NOT BE SAFE OUTSIDE."

Sansa wanted to ask why, but she could see it with her own eyes. There was a cloud of dust in the direction of King's Landing. "Will you, will you be fighting?"

"IF THE COUNTESS COMMANDS IT.", he answered in his monotonous voice. But despite that, she had the feeling that she could hear empathy in it. The heavy helmet must be deforming the sound, and she wondered what his normal voice would sound like.

Sansa reached for her hair, taking out the ribbon that held it together. "Would you do me the honour of wearing this in battle?"

The knight was silent for several long moments, and she feared that he would refuse. But then he knelt before her: "IT WOULD BE A GREAT HONOUR, MY LADY."

She tied the white cloth around the golden cat that decorated his helmet, and she noticed that it lacked an easily opening visor. It could only be removed as a complete piece. It was little wonder then that he always wore it. When she was done he rose up again: "GO INSIDE, YOU WILL BE KEPT SAFE."

Sansa swallowed: "Keep yourself safe."

She turned to go back inside when she saw something strange. One of the tents that was always kept closed was being taken down. The sides removed. And below the canopy there were things she did not know. They were surrounded by skeletons, holding strange implements. But the things themselves were stranger than anything around them. They were cylinders, a bit like the trunks of trees, but gleaming, made from bronze. They looked to be immensely heavy, but that was not everything. Each of the three was mounted on wheels, like some carriage. She wondered what they were, perhaps a kind of ram?

But inside that pavilion there were other peculiarities. There was a cart, with dead horses in front of it, that was filled with spheres, all identical in size, and made of iron. There were other skeletons holding small barrels, and in the midst of them, a man dressed in rich clothes, but with faded colours. He even had a face, but it was pale, very pale. When she looked again, she could see through it, right into a grinning skull.

"GO NOW. THE COUNTESS COMMANDS IT."


	34. 34 Davos III

**DAVOS**

He had been awoken early in the morning, or late in the night, depending on the reckoning one would use. When he had been younger it had been perfectly normal to him, but now he felt tired. The boy however told him something that he just had to investigate. With a small party he went into the city, guided by the boy, whose name he had forgotten. Even with most of the buildings burned he knew exactly where he was, the city of his birth was still there in his mind, with all the winding streets and dense houses. He went through them, even if most of them were gone, burned to ashes by their missing enemies. Of course, he had asked as many survivors as he could, but all they knew was that their party had left the keep, and some time later the dead had come from that direction. He did not dare to assume that they had perished, in his experience it was better to assume that there were more threats, it had kept him alive for years.

When they arrived at the place the boy had told them about, he was shocked. He had sailed to the east, but this was another kind of cruelty. He saw a wooden cross, standing erect, in the location of the witch's death. And on the cross there was a man, moaning softly. Davos approached him, wondering who had done this. He saw iron spikes that had been driven through his limbs, and then he saw the man. He had an unmistakable appearance, Sandor Clegane. His face was twisted by pain, and he was clearly struggling to breathe, but he was alive.

"Take him down, no man deserves such a thing."

His men got to work immediately, from atop a horse they took out the spikes that ran through the arms, while men on foot took out those through his legs. Davos watched, and gave the man some water. "Can you speak? What happened?"

Clegane drank eagerly, and whispered: "She lives. She lives."

When Stannis had heard this he immediately sent out scouts from the city. The horsemen had found a small camp in the darkness. They could make out a few hundred in the moonlight, and a dozen tents, along with a great black banner. While the scouts were doing their duty the king roused his men at arms. He had spoken briefly with Clegane, who had been left behind as the knights of the Stormlands rode off to battle in the open field.

Davos rode with his king, the only king he would follow. It was a few hours after dawn, and the enemy was drawing up for battle, with only some four hundred of the dead. Everyone knew the truth, they would easily break through them, and destroy their taint, they had almost two thousand horse, and another two thousand foot. Most of the army remained in the city, to keep order, and to ward off the rumoured Tyrell advance on it. And there was no more word from the north, not from Tywin Lannister, and not from the Starks. He felt worried, either of them could come bearing down on them at any moment.

In the distance he could already see the enemy, standing in the open, ready to be ridden down. From their ranks a small party came forwards. One of them carried a great banner, depicting a wolf howling at the moon. He wondered if it meant that they were somehow connected to the Starks. He rode behind a lady dressed in black, who rode a towering horse.

"Ser Davos, my lady, accompany me.", the king commanded, and the trio rode off. The red woman carried the royal standard, the burning hart. Between the two forces they met, although Davos thought it no more than a courtesy, their army was by far the stronger, perhaps the witch would offer a surrender, or she had some secret ploy prepared.

The lady approached quickly, and as was expected, did not bow. She merely smiled. "Greetings, I am Sybille von Carstein, countess of Sylvania, grand duchess of Talabecland, baroness of Waldenhof and lady of Halberstadt. You are intruding on my lands, and I kindly request your withdrawal, to the other side of the river."

"You are speaking to Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, theRhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. It is customary to bow to a king.", Davos said sternly.

"I do not bow to empty titles. A man who does not hold his kingdom is no king. But I believe that you received my little message? Have you come to submit yourself to my power?", she seemed so arrogant, more so than any lord he had ever met.

But before he could speak up, Melisandre added in: "You are speaking to the chosen of the Lord of Light, abomination."

He noticed her eyes for the first time, they were yellow, and flaring with barely contained rage. But the strangely-titled lady remained calm in appearance and voice: "My offer is simple. My domains are the land north of the so-called Blackwater. You may retain all the islands, I have no interest in them. In addition, I am willing to hand over your putative nephew, who goes by the name Joffrey Baratheon. I will however hold on to his mother, I still have a use for her."

"He is not my nephew", Stannis sneered, "he is a bastard born of incest. And all of Westeros is my domain, and I will not let it be usurped by anyone."

"Then I fear that an agreement would be difficult to reach, so, perhaps we should settle our differences in battle? Or we could do it in the way of old, with both of us taking up arms against each other, or naming a champion. And whoever loses would submit. It would spare many lives, and still give rise to a conclusive solution to our disagreement. Or, should it have your preference, we could also follow this old custom, called a trial by seven I believe."

"Our negotiation is at an end then.", the king answered sternly, "Bend the knee and you will be spared."


	35. 35 Jérôme III

**JÉRÔME**

He stood in his assigned place, at the head of the hundred and seventeen of his skeletal warriors who had survived the battle in the city. It had been a strange experience, almost resembling something like what fear must have felt like. He had known it when the countess had fallen, her will gone from his mind. But he had still had his orders, and had attempted to retreat with some semblance of order. The others had done as he had, bending all their will to maintaining a fragment of their forces, and using the rest to distract the enemy.

When they had returned to the camp, he felt diminished, not knowing what to do. He had completed his last orders, and there was no more purpose, except to guard that place, for eternity if necessary. He had a few moments when his will slipped, and more of his warriors had fallen, never to rise again. He knew that in the end only he and his three brothers in arms would remain, along with the one he would never see like that. The master gunner. He remembered fighting the man, who had served the baron of Grosshadern, when he was transporting his new weapons to his master's keep. The countess had decided to seize them for herself, and had prepared an ambush. It had felt good to slay the gunners, those dishonorable men. He himself had captured their leader, as he had been ordered, and he had stood vigil while the rites of eternity were performed on him. He would have protested, had he not been as loyal as he was. Immortality should never be the reward of dishonour.

He had been placed on the far left, leading his small group of warriors, and those few with whom the countess had decided to augment them. He saw the enemy knights in front of him, knowing that they would come thundering towards him soon, like he should come thundering towards his enemies. But there were too few knights serving the countess for that, and now he had to stand on foot, with the peasants. He looked to his right, where he could see his companions leading their companies, except for the bearer of the black banner. He was further to the rear, along with the countess, who had decided to not join the fray from the beginning. It was starting to rain, but it would not be enough to hinder the charge, there were too few knights for that, and the rain was too light. It would only be an inconvenience for the living.

The knights were gaining a steady pace. They easily outnumbered the dead, there were about four times as many of them, and they were mounted. He assumed that he would be destroyed, but did not worry. He would follow his orders. And the countess had a plan. She knew what to do, she always did. He trusted in her, he would sacrifice his eternity for her, and she would reward him with another eternity of service.

The enemy was going faster and faster, lowering their lances. He could see them. The first ranks of his company would fall within moments, and the rest a little later. The weight of metal would be too much for his small force. He looked right ahead, as they came closer and closer. When they were only a hundred feet away, he heard a thunderous roar, and saw dozens of horses and men fall, torn to pieces by the fury of the cannon. Such a dishonourable weapon, meant only to kill and maim at a distance, without honour, without glory.

The knights hesitated, and started to slow down. He felt the vampire's will push at the back of his head, and he obeyed, marching forwards, right at their confused enemies. He briefly looked to his right, and saw all the companies advancing, into the carnage. The enemy came to a halt, and then the first of them started to turn, a few however pressed on, incapable of stopping in time, and they were easily cut down by the spears of the front. He reached the first of those who had been hit, hardly recognizable as the man he had once been, only shattered flesh and bones. He deserved it, for opposing the countess.

He felt her will again, and stopped his advance, while the wounded were slain, to rise up again and join their killers. He looked ahead, and saw that the fleeing knights were being rallied by a man. Some captain or leader. He knew his command, and turned around, leading his increased company back to their original place, knowing that the next attack would not be beaten off with such ease.


	36. 36 Davos IV

**DAVOS**

He looked on, by the king's side, as the knights charged. He himself now also was a knight, but in name, not in skill. He had had to learn to ride only a few years ago, and although he knew how to use a sword or a crossbow, he had never learned to fight from horseback. He was a man of the sea. Davos however was not stupid. He knew that the king's army was by far the stronger, and should triumph with relative ease. Especially because they were mounted knights, and the enemy only footmen. He had heard the tales about the fight against the dead, and he knew that their warriors were poor fighters, only strong in large numbers, which they now lacked. But still, he did not trust in the stupidity of his enemies. There had to be something, some hidden scheme to destroy them. The woman had seemed too confident to not have some plan.

But there was no trace of one. The scouts said that there were no hidden forces, only that small group, and beyond them, their encampment, where they must be keeping their royal prisoners. Davos had heard of how they had acted, and what would happen would be what they deserved. The king would give them to the red woman, who sat at his other side, also watching.

Suddenly he heard the sound of thunder, close by, and fire spat from the lines of the dead. Dozens of men and horses toppled to the ground, although it was hard to see at this distance what had done it. Swathes had been cut through the advancing knights, blown over as by a storm. The rest soon turned around, as the dead started beating their drums and advanced. The king spat: "What sorcery is this?"

"I do not know, my king", the red woman answered, "but it is clearly a gift from the Great Other to those who chose the darkness. But the Lord of Light has strengths of his own to gift those who have chosen the light."

"Get on with it.", he commanded.

"Great fires have burned these last days, blessing your throne. The last spark remains preserved, and will go with your army when their hearts are true. Bring me close to the children of the darkness, and your enemies will burn."

The king rode off, drawing his sword, heading towards the retreating vanguard. He was followed by his advisors and guards. Close behind them came the main force, around a thousand knights. Stannis was far ahead, and the fleeing horse slowed down, and moved aside. Now there would be no charge of only the younger knights, all of them would ride together, and smash through the devilish sorcery of the enemy. Davos suspected that it was of the same kind of trickery as that employed by the red woman, but at least she was on his side. He silently prayed that the Seven would forgive him for associating with her, but at least he tried to point his king to the right path. That which was not dark sorcery.

Stannis drew his flaming sword, and at that signal his men rode with him. He sensibly was not in front of the host, wary of the strange magic, but the priestess went to the front. Davos hoped that she would be struck down by some arrow or spell, and remained behind, with the small rearguard, and several wounded men who had managed to escape the dead. They had horrific wounds, limbs torn right off, and these were the lucky ones. They were being helped by the squires and other attendants that had been brought along, and he again found himself praying, for the safety of Stannis.

He looked at the second charge. When they almost reached the site of the previous carnage the same thunder came, and fire and smoke spat from between the enemy companies. Again knights were swatted aside as mere flies, but now they did not stop. It was hard to see what was happening, there was a thick black smoke coming from the dead, but he saw the red woman, she had survived then, as had the king. He thought that he saw a spark around her, and a little later there was another roar of thunder, from the left of the enemy formation. It was then that the charge hit home. The clash of steel was audible even from hundreds of feet away, but that was nothing compared to the sound that followed.

It was louder than anything he had ever heard, louder than the greatest storms, louder than the thunder itself. And there was light, followed by more black smoke. The whole battlefield became obscured, and he heard nothing, not even the cries of battle. After a few moments he felt thick drops of rain fall, but when he wiped them away, he saw that it was not water, but earth.


	37. 37 Sansa IV

**SANSA**

She sat all alone in the tent, waiting. She thought that she heard thunder, close by, but it couldn't be. The sky had been clear only moments ago, when she had looked outside, and there was no sound of rain, just a light drizzle. She could also hear distant shouts, feeling worried about what would happen. Antonius had told her to stay, but she was starting to feel more and more worried. Again she felt helpless, just like she had felt only days ago, like she had been feeling ever since Joffrey had betrayed her. As though she had no control over what was happening.

She hated it, the waiting. She could even understand Cersei, why she had been drinking during the battle. There was no more noise, only the soft rain, barely audible. She heard screams, but that was hardly, and then, silence. Nothing. And the silence lasted, until there was a far louder sound, louder than any thunder. The tent was almost blown open by some fierce wind, but the flap closed again, and there was no more sound.

Now she really couldn't stop her curiosity, and she stepped outside. There were only a few skeletons between the tents, and they didn't seem to notice her. There were voices coming from the tents where the prisoners were being kept, clearly panicked. But she did not go there. Her attention was drawn to a plume of smoke, just ahead of her. Rising and black. It seemed horrible. And she heard screams and shouts, coming from the dense smoke. She remained in place, as she watched and listened.

Around her she could see things, and looking closer, she found that they were parts of bodies, thrown through the air. The sight brought tears to her eyes, and sickened her. She bent forwards, and threw up. The sight was terrible. She hated it, she wanted to run away, but she couldn't. She felt too weak. She closed her eyes, hoping to not see, but the sight was burned on her irises. She opened them again, and saw something even worse. An arm, just a few feet away from her, was moving. Trying to drag itself forwards, but failing. If it had been something else, it would have been funny to see it trying to move, but now it was just even more sickening. But at least she couldn't throw up more, even though she felt the urge.

And then again, the sound of thunder, and a flash of light, in the smoke. Soon it was followed by another, further away, but still loud. She could hear the clash of metal, and after some time, she started being able to see. Another roar came, accompanied by light, but now she could see that it was like flames being breathed out. Were there dragons there? She shivered, but had to keep watching. She started being able to make out forms, men and horses, intermixed in the chaos and darkness and smoke.

The shouting and screaming decreased in volume as another dragon breathed, what else could it be? She saw a whole group cut to the ground, but the fighting continued. There was a strange smell in the air, and her eyes felt like they were burning, not intensely, but enough to bring more tears to them. After several more roars it seemed that the battle had at last ended, there were only the moans of the wounded, but no more shouts, and no more fighting. The dragons were silenced at last.

She slowly got up, the arm had gone only a dozen feet, but was limp again. That at least was a relief. Until she saw the shapes from the smoke come closer. There were men, armoured men, driven out by the dead. There were so few of them, and all of them looked wounded, missing limbs and bleeding from a dozen wounds. And she saw the dead soldiers, they looked battered, also missing parts of their bodies, but still marching, or, in some cases, hopping. Parts of the ribcases were gone as well. There were no more horses, only people walking.

There also were some who were being carried, but only a few. And one who did not seem to belong in such a place. A woman. She was short and dressed in black and steel, her face covered in blood. And she seemed to be looking right at Sansa, with strange, yellow eyes. She walked towards the imprisoned lady, and gave her a smile. Only then did Sansa recognize her, the countess, her captor and Antonius' master.

"I am truly sorry that we meet again in these circumstances, my dear Sansa, but it appears that there was someone calling himself a king who decided to oppose me. But that little issue has been dealt with.", she sounded friendly, despite the traces of battle, "And I am sorry for keeping you like this, but I was indisposed these last few days. Now, please, come with me, it will do me good to speak to a proper lady again, and we can refresh ourselves together."

She put a gloved hand on Sansa's shoulder, and guided her to the large black pavilion that dominated the camp. Sansa gathered her courage and asked: "How is ser Antonius?"

"You must mean von Greif. He is still in one piece, unlike some of the others. But please, do not worry about him, he has seen worse in his service to me. For now, we must focus on your own wellbeing."


	38. 38 Robb III

**ROBB**

The army was rapidly marching back to the north, but first there was an obstacle Robb dreaded. He did not want to lose any time, none at all. He had to save Bran and Rickon. But here, right before him, was a castle, or rather, two castles that had stopped him before. But he did not fear the castles, it was just that he couldn't stand the man inside them, who still did not have the decency to die of his tremendous age. Walder Frey, the man whose daughter he will have to wed. And whose son was going to wed his sister. But that son has died, killed by the dead.

It still was strange to think about them. Throughout his youth he had been told stories of wights, serving the Others. But now there were wights he had made peace with. He had seen them march, he had seen them kill, and he had seen the fallen rise again, in their service. But they were no Others. He had even spoken with their leader, a pale lady who had saved his sister. She had been friendly, constantly smiling and seemingly honest. But the strangest thing was that Arya said that she was from a faraway land, brought here by some sort of magic. Her castle had just appeared in Harrenhal, and she had sallied forth immediately.

It seemed impossible, and anyone telling him such a tale would have been called an idiot and a fool. But he knew that it was true, he had seen it with his own eyes. He had seen men crumble to the ground, aged within mere moments. He had seen skeletons, completely fleshless, walk. It was impossible in many ways, unless it was magic. But the countess was a mage, Arya had said as much. She had seen her weave spells, killing, letting the dead rise again. And she never ate or drank, no one had ever seen her do such a thing. Only Arya had seen her once bite a man, but that was it. He knew that he was allying himself with witches, forbidden by the old gods and the new, but there had been no choice. It was that or be betrayed by the Lannisters, and he had already seen what they did in the Riverlands.

But now he was approaching the Twins, where the gates were closed. He knew that he could take the castle, should he want it, but that would take time. And time was limited. But now there was no one threatening him directly, so he rode up to the gates, at the head of his army. He even had several of lord Frey's sons with him. There was a man calling out, probably one of the many Freys: "Your grace! My grandfather, lord Walder Frey, invites you and your companions to speak to him! He offers his apologies for not greeting you in person, but his age stops him!"

Robb thought for a few moments. He needed to pass by here, but he did not trust Walder Frey, his mother had told him as much. Everyone told him that. Never trust him. But speed was of the essence, Theon might move his brothers away, to the Iron Islands. And then he would need a fleet, while he had hardly enough ships to hit them back. Only the southern lords had such fleets, and they would never help him. He did not like it, but he still needed Walder Frey and his bridge. And now there were no Lannisters moving close by. If the old man tried anything, his castles would be razed and he would be dead. That should be enough to keep him trustworthy. That, and the swords of those around the young king.

Accompanied by the sons of the greatest lords of the Trident and the North he rode forwards, and the gates opened to grant entrance to this small group. He had left command of the army to lord Umber, who had sworn that he would tear the gates apart with his own hands should anything happen. But nothing happened, no crossbow bolts flew at them, no hot sand. They were admitted freely. The small group dismounted and were led to the great hall, where their ancient host was waiting. The old man nodded: "Your grace."

Of course he did not kneel, or bow, or even stand up. He was too old for that, but still had the energy to father children, as the woman next to him proved. She was obviously with child, and then there were the others, all clearly his descendants, crowding up the hall. And he would have to wed one of them. The sooner this was over the better. "Lord Walder Frey. I want to use your bridge for my army."

"Please, your grace, spare some time for a worried old man. I have many children, and they need to marry. I am grieving my son Elmar, who died fighting for you, like many of mine have. He was to be married to your sister."

"I grieve with you, we all have lost much, but soon the war will be over, and I will marry one of your lovely daughters.", he lied through his teeth, he did not fancy the prospect at all.

"That is an event that we all look forwards to greatly. But still, it pains me that none of my sons will wed your sister."

"She will not be married until she is sixteen. She will be fostered at Harrenhal, with lady von Carstein."

"Will she? That is most peculiar. But your other sister, is she betrothed yet? Or your younger brothers heh! who are cruelly held prisoner by your former friend?"

Robb wanted nothing more than to cut down this man where he stood, but he controlled his anger. It was clear to him now what he wanted, one of his foul brood married to his relatives. But he would not give in to him. Never. "My sister and brothers are still to be liberated, and only when peace has been restored will we see to such matters."

"Truly your grace? It would seem wiser to secure alliances while there still is a war. The North is held by your enemies, and wisdom would say to secure the bridges behind you, heh."

Was he threatening him? Of course he was. He wished that his mother was here, she would know how to deal with this old weasel. But he had some ideas as well. "That is why I trust on you, lord Frey, I will wed your daughter when the North has been retaken, my army has sufficient strength to take any castle."


	39. 39 Sansa V

**SANSA**

The inside of the pavilion was different than Sansa had expected it to be. Somehow she thought that it would have been dark, and simple. But it wasn't. The inside was illuminated by dozens of candles, mounted on golden stands. The floor was covered in fine rugs, and the walls were covered in fine embroidery, glittering in the lights of the candles with their gold. There were several flaps leading to hidden rooms, and there even were people there. She saw three women, in simple black dresses. They bowed low to the lady, and the one in the middle spoke, barely audible: "My lady, your bath is ready."

"Sansa, my dear, you look exhausted, will you join me?", the countess asked, looking Sansa into the eyes. She tried to avert her eyes, but felt like she couldn't, and almost felt lost in those yellow orbs.

"'I wouldn't wish to intrude upon you, my lady."

"Oh, don't worry about that, it will help you return to yourself, it is the least I can do after these last few days. But of course, should you consider it indecent, I would appreciate it if you would stay to talk. It will do me good to speak to a civilized lady, and not to one of these warlike barbarians."

Sansa nodded, knowing that she should follow. The lady was kind, and only wanted to help her. She felt better already, and could hardly imagine her hurting anyone, even as she remembered her crushing the king's finger. And she saw all the blood on her face, but there was none around her mouth. That was strange. But then again, she was so nice.

Finally eye contact was broken, and Sansa followed her hostess into one of the rooms. It was dominated by a large tub, filled with steaming water. Two of the servants had come with them, and as the countess stood in front of the bath she was carefully stripped of the armour and dress. Her skin was revealed, and it surprised Sansa. It was so pale, unnaturally so, and not a single blemish or spot on it. Her hair was untied from the silk flowers and they were also put carefully aside. The lady was beautiful, but she was thin, almost too thin, almost lacking feminine shapes.

Ashamed, she looked away, wondering how old the woman was. She looked to be only a few years older than Sansa, but at the same time, she behaved so strangely, and had some strange power over the dead.

"Don't worry, there is nothing that you would not have seen a hundred times already to be seen. I'm not some monster, I do not eat people. Come, sit with me, so we can speak like civilized ladies."

Sansa looked up, and saw the countess sitting in the large bath. It was obviously perfumed, the smell was filling the air. She walked closer to it, to where one of the servants had placed a seat. She saw that there were leaves of flowers in the bath, wondering when they had been collected, she had never seen any of the servants outside. And it was warm, hot even. "We have had little time earlier, to talk, to introduce ourselves. But there is no need to be afraid, my armies will not harm a hair on your head. I am at peace with your family, and you will be returned to them as soon as my affairs here have been resolved to my satisfaction. Kings are such unpleasant prisoners to keep, and two of them are worse than one. But I think that you have met enough of them to know that, and would rather discuss more meaningful subjects."

Returned? To her family? When? Sansa's heart leapt she would see them again. And then she thought of Arya, who had been lost somewhere. She did not know where. Had she been somewhere in King's Landing, when it burned? The thought alone saddened her again.

"You look worried, but let me assure you that they are unharmed. Your mother and sister await you at the castle named Riverrun, and your oldest brother is riding to the North, to return to your other two brothers. I have had the pleasure to speak with them, and they look forwards to your return."

She swallowed: "When will I be allowed to go home?"

"We will leave this place in a few days time. Von Greif will then escort you to Riverrun."


	40. 40 Cersei I

**CERSEI**

Cersei felt horrible. They had been given only little food, and her son, her poor little Joffrey, had been mutilated by that monster looking like a woman. With her crown of flowers and her dark magic. She wonders, is she the younger queen, who will replace her? She can't be. She is beautiful, yes, but not as beautiful as Cersei Lannister. But the fact was that she had taken her captive, and had had them locked in this tent for days. A few times one of those knights had appeared, with a little food, but they said nothing. Never, refusing to answer all her questions. She had seen smoke, rising from King's Landing, but didn't care. She always hated the city, where she had been sent to that great oaf.

She wanted a bath, and a Maester to see to her son. The wound was not infected. She had heard strange sounds, thunder, followed by great winds pushing against the tent. And screams and the clash of arms. There had been a battle nearby, but nothing else. She heard nothing about how it ended. What had happened. There were some voices outside, but they were too soft to hear.

Then the flap of the tent where she, together with her sleeping son, was being kept. There was a knight standing in the opening, he spoke monotonously: "COME. THE COUNTESS REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE."

Joffrey awoke immediately, looking afraid, like he had done these last few days. Unsteadily they followed. It was light outside, and Cersei felt herself blinded by the light of the sun. But still she walked, and slowly she could see again. She saw knights, sitting on the ground, surrounded by walking dead. And she knew some of their heraldy, men who followed Stannis. They seemed exhausted and terrified, and they looked at the pair that was being led by the knight, pointing them out to each other. She kept her face neutral, she wouldn't let them see her fear, or her humiliation at having to wear filthy clothes.

They walked towards a large black pavilion, topped with the banner she had seen before, the wolf howling to the moon. Another knight stood at the entrance, she knew this one, he had taken them from the burning city. He too stepped aside, and the pavilion was opened, showing a wealthy interior. They were led inside, and she saw a woman she remembered all too well, one of the people she hated the most in all the world. And she just sat there, in a black dress, unarmed, but not alone. There were two servants standing in the corners. In front of the lady was a small table, with a thin-bladed dagger on it, along with goblets made of glass, filled with what seemed to be wine.

Please, be seated, we have some important matters to discuss. Matters of peace."

She held her son's hand tightly, he would let her speak, they had discussed it at length. There were two seats standing in front of the lady. As she walked towards one of them, she looked around. The knights had not followed them. She sat down, noticing that she was still a little taller than the lady. It was only a small consolation. She knew that her enemy had all the power at the moment.

"First of all, I am sorry for keeping you waiting this long.", the lady started, "But I was indisposed these last few days, and there was the small matter of defeating an enemy in battle to deal with. Of course, this is not entirely relevant to you. You will be thinking about your own position in my new order."

A battle? That must have been what she had heard, and the prisoners, she must have fought Stannis. But indisposed? That seemed unlikely, however, she was exceptionally pale. Was their captor ill? She hoped so, that she would die soon, and her darkness with her. And a new order? What did that mean? Did she want the iron throne?

Before she could answer her son did it for her: "What sort of new order? I am the king. The realm follows my order."

The lady looked at him, smiling, the filthy witch: "It no longer does so. The pillars of your reign are broken. I have destroyed your grandfather and killed him. There is no more western army, your army in the capital was exterminated. I hold your uncle, Ser Jaime, prisoner. You are only a king in name. And you will renounce your kingship. If you behave, I will grant you the lordship over the Westerlands, otherwise I will grant it to someone else, and you will demonstrate to them why it is most unwise to be impolite to me."

Jaime, he was a prisoner of this woman? And her father, dead? How dares she! But she is right, she can do whatever she pleases. If she is not lying, there is no help coming. And he has seen her power, how can she be stopped?

"You! How dare you speak to me like that!", Joff stands up, taking the dagger from the table and lunging at von Carstein. He was fast, at least he had a little of his father in that regard. The countess remained perfectly still, not even a hint of surprise on her face. Even she must have seen her approaching death.

Suddenly she had grabbed Joff's wrist, stopping him in his tracks, and her smile faded. "That was impolite. Very impolite even. I fear that I cannot tolerate such behaviour. But as we are negotiating today, you will not die today. But you will ask me for it, for the privilege of death. Now, please, apologize to your mother. You have hurt her feelings."

Cersei was almost paralyzed, but she managed to interject: "Please, my lady, he is but a boy, he does not know what he did. Please, forgive him."

She looked at her, as she remained seated and forced Joffrey to the ground. "I have altered my terms. You will take your mother's name, that is not in dispute. You will renounce your royal titles, and will be named lord of Casterly Rock and those territories that I deign to let you hold from it. You will formally submit to me, and obey me in everything. Half of your revenues will go to me in perpetuity, and you will obey all my laws. If you even hint at rising in rebellion, or disobey me in anything, you will find that I am well-schooled in the art of pain. Do you accept this most generous offer?"

"Yes my lady", Cersei said, feeling pain in her chest, "my son accepts your generosity."


	41. 41 Davos V

_I am really sorry, but my life has gotten a lot busier suddenly, and I won't be able to update daily anymore. I will from now on aim to update every other day._

**DAVOS**

When the smoke lifted, he already knew that it was too late. A few men had escaped from the brutal battle, and they said that the king had fallen. He had tried to save his master, but the charge that he was a part of was repulsed by the enemy infantry and that terrible thunder. For the first time in years he had cried, and had left the field of battle. Many would have called it fleeing, but he had not fled. He might have been a smuggler, but he was no coward. A smuggler couldn't be. He was riding towards something, not away from it. If only he could ride as well as those knights. But he couldn't, and would never learn to. As a boy he didn't have a horse, or anything for that matter, other than his wits.

The vipers would be gathering already, and he had to be there, to protect the queen. He couldn't let her become the pawn of her mother, or any of those devil-worshippers. At least he had not seen the red priestess ride from the fray. Had she betrayed them? Or had she fallen, like he had prayed she would? For now only the Seven knew. But still he rode, together with a few of the survivors of the battle. They all shared their purpose. They had been there from the beginning, when Stannis had raised his pitifully few banners. Many of them were wounded, but they still had horses, although most were on their second or third horse of the day.

He saw King's Landing ahead of them, there still was some smoke rising from the last few fires, but most of them had extinguished themselves, nothing was left that could burn. The gates were opened for them, and they rode as fast as the exhausted horses could carry them, to the only lightly damaged Red Keep. The guards recognized the party, and they were waved through. Davos paid little attention to them, lost in his grief, and worries for the future. The iron will of Stannis had kept this army together, but without them, would they stay?

He had to find Shireen, to take her to the safety of Dragonstone if necessary. His thoughts raced through his head. The Lannisters were a broken force, the Northmen were far away, the Dornish would do nothing, but the Reach. He did not know what they would do. He might succeed in making peace with the monster that had killed his king, even if he loathed doing so, but they needed allies. Strong allies. Who? Who would fight for the queen? He already knew the answer, no one. None had risen for Stannis, who might be harsh, but he was a man grown, with victories to his name, not a young girl tainted by disease.

At the keep they were stopped, and the small party dismounted. Behind them he could already see more riders filter into the city. Again they were allowed to pass, the men recognizing Davos, and he went immediately into the keep. He had dried up his tears already, he would not show weakness. Not in this moment of her greatest need. He recognized one of the servants, and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Where is the princess?"

She looked at him, afraid: "I dunno, milord. I guess she's in the royal chambers."

"Do you know where my sons are? Find one of them, and tell him that he and he brothers should prepare the ships."

"Yes milord.", she answered, bowing her head before rushing off.

Davos continued, even as the other knights spread out, to gather their men, to prepare for whatever might happen. This was one of the few places in the city he had never known, no place for a man like him. Luckily he didn't have to search long, as the one he was looking for, had found him. She shouted: "You're back! Where is my father? How did the battle go? Did you win? Did you hear the thunder?"

He turned to look at he with sad eyes, and put her hands on her shoulders. Her eyes became bigger and tears welled up in them. Softly she spoke: "You didn't?"

"I am sorry, your grace. The enemy, they used dark magic."

He pulled her close to him, to offer some comfort to the girl. He was interrupted by a whip-like voice: "Shireen! What are you doing?"

Davos bowed awkwardly: "Your grace."

"Go to your rooms. Now.", Shireen let go, and walked away, sobbing loudly.

"And now tell me why you upset my daughter so much, Ser Davos."

"Your grace, I have just returned from the battle, and…"

"And you should have come to me. Or have waited to return with my husband."

"Your husband, the king, he..."

"He is save", she interrupted again, "The lady Melisandre had seen it in the flames."

"The lady Melisandre was wrong.", the tears come back to his eyes, but does his utmost to hold them back. "He, he has fallen in battle."

"No! You're lying! The Red God does not lie! He is alive! Go away!"


	42. 42 Cersei II

**CERSEI**

"Why did you do that?", Joff asked angily, "I am the king, father was the king and now I am. The Iron Throne is mine, and you can't take it away from me. And you definitely can't give it away to that, that filthy bitch."

"Oh, sweetling, I had to do it. She has us in her power, for now, but I promise, once we are at Casterly Rock, she will have no more hold over you. We will have your uncle Jaime back, and then we can raise new armies. Your grandfather's bannermen will rally to you, not as their lord, but as their king. All you have to do is be patient. Casterly Rock is impossible to take, and she can't hurt you there."

"But she hurt me already, and I want her dead. She should be dead. She deserves it."

"I promise you that that will happen, but it will be in the future, when we are back to safety. And don't let her hear you, she was provoking you earlier, and she might hurt you again."

He looked afraid now, and she held him in her arms, just like she had done when he was much younger. How could anyone do this to her boy? She had to know who was behind this. And who this lady was. Obviously a witch, even though she did not call herself queen, she was making herself one. Was she in league with Stannis? That might be possible, but she had not mentioned it. The Northerners perhaps? That was more likely, she had spoken to that Sansa girl first. But how had they found the power to get such a woman to join them?

Like everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms she knew the tales about the Others beyond the wall. Was she one of them? That seemed all too likely. She had always believed them to be mere tales, but this showed that it was something different, something real. But why did she help the Starks? Had she married one of them? But why? Many other houses could have offered far greater rewards. And she spoke with a strange accent, unlike any other she had ever heard. At first she hadn't even noticed it. Where was it from?

There were far too many questions, all without answers. But at least she had a way out. She wanted to negotiate, which meant that she was not as strong as she seemed. The strong never negotiate, they crush their enemies. That was one of the things that would make Joff a great king, he was ruthless, he never spared his enemies. Together with her talent for politics they would govern the realm, and none would ever be able to resist.

She knew what she had to do, when her son had calmed down again. She whispered: "I have something to do, just stay here, and nothing can happen to you."

With all her dignity she walked to the closed flap, and opened it a little bit. There were two skeletons standing there, unmoving. "I wish to speak to your lady."

They did not move, not even the tiniest bit. No sign whatsoever of any reaction. She felt annoyed, she was the queen, and one does not ignore a queen. How dare they do that! She wanted to shout, but that would be against her dignity, but inside her, her rage was brewing. She would see this house von Carstein destroyed, every last one of its members ground into the dirt, like her father had done to the Reynes and Tarbecks.

She paced back and forth, while her son was sitting silent. She wondered where Tommen was, and if Myrcella would be safe in Dorne, now that King's Landing was lost. And where was Tommen? Her disgusting little brother had taken him away and hidden him somewhere, if he hadn't sold her poor boy just to bring further ruin to his family. But at least he was dead, or so she hoped. She had been told that the deed was done, and no one could have survived in the fires. At least one decent thing had happened, amidst all the disasters.

Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the tent was opened again, and one of her captor's servants entered, a girl, with downcast eyes, pale and with black hair. She didn't seem particularly intelligent, but she was silent. She kept looking at the ground as she placed a platter before them, with a pair of golden goblets, an equally golden pitcher and plates with what looked like sausages, round small breads, with a spiral on top of them.

"Tell your lady that I wish to see her, at once.", Cersei commanded.

The girl bowed, still looking only at the ground as she put down the platter. "Ze countess is resting."

What an insult! It was the middle of the day. She herself had used that excuse, but only with those who were truly less than she was. And that horrible oaf of a husband that she had had to put up with. "Then tell her that I wish to see her when she is rested."


	43. 43 Robb IV

**ROBB**

"Yes, you must be anxious to meet her. Heh. I can tell you, nothing helps a man feel young like a new bride.", the old man said, a rather disgusting smile on his wrinkled face. "Now, your grace, heh, it would be good to speak alone."

Robb wondered what he should do, but what threat could this old man be? He said: "All of you, leave us."

Everyone left the shadowy hall, and only the young king and the old lord remained. "What do you want to speak about?"

"I have had the pleasure of many wives over the years, but with that came the burden of many sons and daughters. It is hard to find good matches for all of them. I have a bridge that you need to cross, and you have brothers and sisters who are not yet wedded. My sons and grandsons have bled for your crown, and more will bleed still. Nothing would make an old man happier than to see his offspring married, in the few days that he has left in this world. Would you do me this pleasure, heh, your grace?"

What did he want? He had already said that Arya could not be married. Did he mean Bran or Rickon? Or Sansa? He would not have them sent away immediately, if even half of what was being said about what happened in King's Landing was true. He would not send them off to someone like Walder Frey, not that easily. But he had to remain polite: "My lord, you are my most valued ally, which is why I will wed one of your daughters when all of our families can be gathered, together with all the great lords of the realm."

"Heh. Your grandfather did not come to my last wedding, and the one before it. Guests are not necessary, boy, all you need is a bride, her father, and yourself!"

Robb thought for a few moments, obviously the old lord wanted him to marry one of his daughters now, today even. Did he distrust him? Did he think that he would break his word, and abandon his vassal. He remembered what his father had said about him, and what his mother had told him. Walder Frey couldn't be trusted. Never. He was a weasel, every one of his old bones treacherous. He knew what he should do.

"Then I should meet your daughters, and by the end of the day, I shall call you father."

**************

The next day he rode from the Twins, feeling different. He had asked the maester to send a raven to Riverrun, to tell his mother that he was married now. In some ways he was happy, although he had wished his family to be there, and not just his new family. The old man's comments had been terrible to bear, and he had felt sorely tempted to do something to him, but he couldn't. There had been no treason. Some of the lords travelling with him had even brought gifts, mostly things that they had taken while fighting in the Westerlands. Amongst them were a horse from the Mormonts, a lavishly decorated tent from the Umbers and a fine hunting crossbow from lord Bolton, including a quiver decorated with burning trees, obviously having belonged to a member of house Marbrand.

The night had been truly awkward, and thinking about it made his face red. His young wife was riding with them, to the North, that would one day be her home. It had been difficult, having to choose one of Walder Frey's many daughters, but in the end he had managed to choose, with the help of his battle companions. The woman's name was Roslin, who was a little older than he was. Shorter too, by far, and thin. But she seemed to be kind, if a little shy. He could understand that however, it had been an awkward, all of it, and both of them had had little time to prepare for the wedding.

He looked to his right, where she was riding, and smiled, they had not spoken much yet, she was silent, and he himself said little to her, still surprised by the day before. But at least he had crossed, and soon he would be back in the North, to confront Theon, and to retake Winterfell. He could then show his wife his home, her home. He had wanted to march faster, but he needed his men fresh, when he was to take Moat Cailin, which would be difficult, he knew all too well that even a small garrison would be nearly impossible to dislodge from it, but he had a plan.


	44. 44 Stannis I

**STANNIS**

He was trying to remember what had happened when he charged. He had been in his horse, lady Melisandre by his side, when the thunder came again. Men had been cut down, but he could see its sources. Strange tubes mounted on wheels, which belched flame and smoke. They were no dragons then, but weapons, controlled by what once had been men. He would not have believed it if anyone had told him about the dead and their strange weapons, but now he had seen with his own eyes, and could not deny the truth. Even the lady Melisandre's teachings seemed to hold more truth now. But still he would not trust entirely in gods. After the thunder had struck, the priestess had reacted, and one of the embers that she had taken from the city flew from her hands, towards one of the weapons.

That was where his memory became hazy. He heard only a single tone, and nothing else. He had shouted, and his voice seemed lost, just like those of his men. Several men had fallen from their horses, but he had pushed on, forwards. No one seemed to oppose him, he saw only the shattered remains of his foes. But they had risen again, gathered by dark witchcraft. It had become impossible to see, black smoke everywhere, and enemies would appear from the darkness. He cut them down with ease, they were no warriors.

But men were being lost, and they too rose to fight their former allies. He would have ordered the retreat, but no one could hear him, and he would not flee from battle, not without his men. His horse had fallen, but he had continued cutting and stabbing until his arms hurt. Breathing has been difficult, his eyes felt as though they were on fire and he could smell something resembling the dungeons of the accursed rock that had been his home for years. Men were falling by ever greater numbers, and more and more enemies came to surround them. He saw occasional flashes through the darkness, and men fell, torn to pieces, both the living and the dead.

And then he saw her, his black enemy. Von Carstein. Accompanied by her standard bearer she had advanced into the melee. He caught only glimpses, but he saw her coming closer and closer, and saw that she was laughing. He knew that he and his men were being herded together, and soon there were only a few hundred left on the field, most of them wounded. She gave a short bow to him, and said something, but he heard nothing. Except that noise.

He had not reacted to her, and only readied his weary arms. He had seen her fall before, cut down by Clegane and the sword he had captured, Ice. He had tried to strike her when she came, but somehow he missed, his blow hitting only air. And then, the pain. Almost as bad as the pain he had felt in his belly when he had been besieged. He fell, but did not scream. His armour was dented and he dropped his sword, wondering if he would ever use the arm again. He had dropped his shield and tried to draw a dagger, but the lady had grabbed his arm, and dragged him from the field.

That was how he came to be in this tent, illuminated by several candles. He was bound, and his armour had been stripped from him by a young maester. And slowly he could hear again. The man had said that he would keep his arm and his head. The man had said that he could shout, but he would not. He would never give that satisfaction to his enemy. Never. He had also been told that he was the prisoner of this von Carstein, and that he should prepare himself to meet her in the evening.

He hated being bound, he was a king, not some common criminal. He was alone, still feeling hazy, when a knight, wearing even a full helmet, arrived and released his bonds. "YOU ARE SUMMONED BY THE COUNTESS", he declared, monotonously.

He followed. He hated it, but there was no other option. To run would only see him killed. An then everything would have been for nothing. He was led to a great black tent, and there, the lady awaited him, in a fresh black dress. He was ill-dressed, but did not care, he had not had the opportunity to change. He wore only what had been under his plate.

She seemed perfectly calm, but smiled when he entered: "Thank you for coming to see me so quickly, my lord. I hope that this meeting will be more productive than our previous one."

He sat down opposite to her, on the other side of a small table. On it were several odd items. The first was a goblet with wine, then there was a finely made dagger, and in the middle, between his goblet and hers, something that should not be there. A crown. Golden and decorated with rubies and black diamonds, with the gold worked into the shapes of many antlers. He had not seen it before, but it was for a Baratheon, that much was clear. It must have been Joffrey's, she had said that he had been captured. Was this to be an offer, or a threat? "I am Stannis Baratheon, rightful king of the seven kingdoms."

"Oh yes, I have heard that. But you see, your situation has changed. You now are my prisoner, and I am perfectly willing to offer you generous terms, like I offered to your competitor. I do not enjoy war, and find violence abhorrent. I merely wish for peace and justice. I came here, and found these lands lawless, ruled only by force of arms. When I rode forth, I found the strong preying on the weak, I saw villages torched, I saw livestock stolen. I can and will not tolerate such behaviour. My conscience does not allow it. I have called forth my armies, and have marched to bring peace, and to end the suffering of the common people."

She was obviously lying. Everyone makes such claims of lofty ideals, but in the end, she is only taking lands that are not hers, by nothing but brute force. "I have my throne, and you have taken a part of my lands, where I would guarantee the peace and law."

"But now I guarantee the peace, better than the kingdom you seek ever did. How many times has it been ravaged by war? Where was this rule of law to prevent these current wars? Where were was the justice to protect the commoners? The duty of a ruler is to protect the people, not the other way around. Why has none of these kings protected his people?"

What was she planning, to draw forth his anger? He would not give his enemy that satisfaction. He forced himself to continue. "The law says that I am the king. I have marched to protect the law, and I have executed it in the lands under my control."

"Ah yes, that is exactly the point that I wanted to make. You see, you lack the forces to control all of these kingdoms. Your dominion stretches only to some of the kingdoms. But I am a kind and generous person, and see no need to destroy you, you seem like a man who can rule a land, but all of Westeros is too much for any one man to rule successfully. You are the last who claims the Seven kingdoms, and I wish to break them up. You may be king, but not of all of them. You may be, what do your people call it? Storm King."

She looked into his eyes, and he felt that she was his friend, not an enemy. But that was false. She was a usurper, an enemy. And the most formidable of them. He was silent for some time, while his mind struggled, but he could see clearly again, knowing the woman for the witch and the monster that she was. The lady Melisandre was correct, this abomination was truly evil.

"You cannot expect me to give up my birthright. My brother was the king, and I am his true heir."


	45. 45 Catelyn VII

**CATELYN**

She was sitting in her rooms, alone, reading the message that had only just arrived from the Twins. Her son, married, without her being there, without anyone being there. It enraged her, but she understood it. Walder Frey had played another of his tricks, and forced Robb to wed his daughter. He knew that her son had little time, he was rushing north to save Bran and Rickon. Every day she prayed for their safety, but for them she was not as worried as for Sansa. The Greyjoy boy would not dare to harm them, unlike that monster who had taken her husband from her.

She looked at the letter again, wondering what the girl would be like. She had always expected a grander wedding for her firstborn, or for any of her children. And at the very least she had expected to be there when it happened. But at least he had passed safely, on his way to her other sons. The lady of Winterfell, no, not the lady of Winterfell anymore, stood up. She had her duties to attend to. She was the lady of Riverrun now, and her brother needed every bit of help she could give him.

When she opened the door to her rooms she saw maester Vyman approaching, pale-faced and hurried. He seemed out of breath, holding a piece of paper that obviously came from a raven. Her heart almost stopped, this raven, what news had it brought.

"My lady", he uttered, breathing in again, "a raven", he paused again, but now not for breath. "It is from Ser Rodrik."

"Give it to me."

There was something about the paper, something that made her afraid to touch it, but still she did. She took it from a shaking hand, unthinking.

"My lady, you might want to sit down when reading it."

Her heart was beating faster. What sort of news would this letter bring. Could she read it, would she read it? But still she returned to her room, sitting down. And then she read.

Strangely enough, it was not horrible, not frightening. Ser Rodrik was writing that he would march on Winterfell, and described all of his preparations and plans. Why was she bothered with this? All she cared about was that her sons would be free, and Greyjoy driven from her home.

She could hear a girl's laugh, Arya's, in the courtyard, where she was with Brienne. She knew that it was bad of her to allow it, but now she found it difficult to refuse her daughter anything, now that she was finally returned to her. She looked up from the letter and smiled a little, before continuing.

When she did, the whole world stopped. She couldn't hear, and she couldn't see. Her hands were numb. She wanted to deny it, but it was true. Her heart knew it to be, and it was torn asunder. Her boys, Bran and Rickon. Murdered. Dead. She felt like the whole world was crushing her, and wanted to scream for it to stop. But she couldn't. Her lungs would not push out the air, her voice would not twist it to sound. Her hands would not move. She should be dead, not them. Not her poor sons. She wished for it, but in that too her body would not obey.

But why should she live? A voice in the back of her head answered. For her son and her daughters. One of whom was still held by the terrible Lannisters, in King's Landing, which would soon come under siege, or already was. Every day she prayed for her, hoping against all hope to be reunited with her. Why must those she loves bleed? She asked the Seven, but they did not answer.

Slowly the world returned to her, and she could continue reading. She cursed herself, for ever allowing Theon Greyjoy into her presence. She should have obeyed her instinct, to have him cast out. Never allowed him to stay with her children. He had taken their hospitality, and this was the reward!

The first tears came, first slowly, and then they started to flow freely. She buried her head in her hands, and she cried. Her strength had left her, this was too much to bear. First her husband, now her sons. She whispered their names, over and over, all alone in the castle of her youth.


	46. 46 Jérôme IV

**JÉRÔME**

He rode almost alone, escorted only by four mounted knights. The countess had been clear in her instructions, he was to ride to the city, and personally deliver her message to the queen, and to return with the answer. He did not know what the queen would look like, but he knew that he would succeed. If he would not she would not have commanded him to find her. His attendants were knights who had ridden against him in the morning, and now had received the call from his mistress. One of them carried a large white flag, signifying the intention to parlay.

Through the darkness they rode, following the road. His memories wandered, back to the battle. It was like many others he had fought, especially those in the service of his lady. He had counted twenty-three today. The number of foes that had fallen to his sword. The ensorcelled blade had carved through armour, through flesh and through bones. He had relished it, every blow he had struck, even if the countess was using those distasteful cannon. The one he would never have called his brother in arms had fallen, along with one of them, never to rise again, and her rage had been terrible. He had seen her several times, wading through the blood, letting her magic run forth from her fingertips. He had seen how she commanded the cannon to fire into the melee, and how they had carved great holes into it, to be quickly filled by her servants.

And in the end, as always, victory. His only regret was that he had failed to stop several fleeing knights, leaving a remnant of the enemy army. But even that did not matter, as all of it must have been in her plan. Everything was. She said so herself, and her every word was his truth. Every waking moment was filled with memories. Of battles fought, enemies slain, and her. He remembered his living self, so far away now, almost faded. He knew that he once had known hunger and fear. But she had set him free. Foolishly he had tried to do battle with her while she was travelling, but all had died. Except for him. She was kind. She told him to kneel, to swear eternal service. And he did, as he was anointed by oils like he had been when he became a knight.

And then he died. A dagger through his throat. He fell, unable to speak, unable to renounce his vow. He knew that he had weakly desired to do it, the last of his living weakness. He had felt the blood flow from him, even as he couldn't breathe. And finally oblivion had welcomed him. Or it should have. It did not do as it should. He could still feel, and for some time even hear and see. He had been placed somewhere, unable to move, in the darkness. The last light he saw was that of a candle. And then there was the pain. It had lasted, but soon he no longer felt parts of himself, he could no longer see, and even hearing stopped.

Finally, when the pain was finally gone, and he knew only despair, she came. He did not know what happened, but he could see again, he could hear again, even in the darkness. And what he saw was the vision of his saviour. Her. As always dressed in black, smiling, and commanding. He rose, holding his sword, eternally her servant. She had freed him from mortality, from doubt and need. Only one thing remained, the will to serve.

He still recalled that moment, it was his greatest memory, and one that would never fade, like those of his life had. He was dimly aware that he had had a wife, and children, but their names no longer came to him, not even how many there were. All of their faces had melded into one, and even that was losing clarity by the night. But those were not important. Only the countess was important now, had been important for all these years. And he would serve.

His memories were lifted from him when he saw the gates ahead of them. Gates that he had taken by storm. There were guards, looking out, crying out to them. "Ho! Who goes there!"

He rode on, flanked and followed by the four knights. They had been chosen by the countess for a simple reason. Each of them was from an important family. He did not know their names, and did not care. Some had suffered terrible wounds, others had died cleanly. When he saw crossbows leveled at him, he called back: "I AM JÉRÔME D'AVOINE, BEARING A MESSAGE FROM COUNTESS SYBILLE VON CARSTEIN. OPEN THESE GATES, AND BRING ME TO YOUR QUEEN."

He heard them speaking, and remained seated, not showing any reaction. It would have been invisible, hidden by his helmet, but he could not even react. He was unmoving, like his companions. He waited, seeing the stars move in their paths, but still no answers came.

The moon and stars moved further and further, and still the Bretonnian would not move. He would wait, he had been commanded to, so he would stay waiting. Finally a voice called out: "You may enter. But leave your weapons outside, with your companions. You may enter alone!"

And so he did, removing his greatsword, that had served him for so many years, and his shorter swords and axe. He knew that his riders might collapse while he was not there, too far from him to maintain them with his will, but he had his path set for him by the lady, and he would not fail.


	47. 47 Davos VI

**DAVOS**

As soon as he had heard about the messenger he had made his way to the gates. Seeing one of the dead again so soon after what had happened was unnerving, but if they were sending messages, there might be a way for Shireen to survive at least, and to retain her father's throne. He had given the order to allow the messenger entrance, and had him disarmed. The knight entered the city alone, and Davos was surprised by his appearance. He had seen the battle, but there the dead seemed like battered corpses, moving awkwardly. That was not the case with this one. It walked with determination, perfectly upright and at a steady pace.

Davos accompanied him, wondering what would be under that helmet which seemed to be more suited to a tourney than to a battlefield, or to wear on such a mission. The knight did not look aside, and said monotonously: "I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOUR QUEEN."

"She might not be in a state to receive you now. I can accept the message and pass it on to her for you."

"I MUST DELIVER THE MESSAGE TO YOUR QUEEN.", the knight declared, again without any hint of emotion.

Inwardly he sighed, and when he tried to talk on their way to the Red Keep, he received only silence. Walking through the burned city was sobering, even in the darkness. His companion's mistress had done this, she had laid waste to the city, driving the inhabitants before her army, into the fires. And she had delivered battle today, killing his king. He had already given instructions to one of the servants to rouse Selyse. He did not like her, but she was the mother of the queen, and had to be there when such a message came.

When they entered the throne room she was there, along with a yawning Shireen and several armed knights. Good, they needed a circle of steel around them, especially now. He bowed, addressing them: "Yer grace, yer grace, this man has come bearing a message for you under a flag of truce."

Selyse looked terrible, tired and confused: "Let him speak."

Shireen meanwhile looked even worse, as though she had done nothing but cry, and had not slept at all. He took pity on the poor girl, like he always did.

"MY MISTRESS, COUNTESS SYBILLE VON CARSTEIN, COUNTESS OF SYLVANIA AND TRANSFLUVIA, HAS ENTRUSTED ME TO DELIVER HER LETTER TO YOU, YOUR HIGHNESS."

It stepped forwards, holding out a scroll, surrounded by a black and red ribbon, and a seal which he could not see. One of the knights tried to take it, to give it to the queen, but the thing in the armour spoke: "MY INSTRUCTIONS ARE TO HAND THIS TO QUEEN SELYSE. THE COUNTESS WILL NOT BE DENIED."

Everyone froze, wondering what to do. Three of the knights now stood between Selyse and the stranger, their hands on their swords. But he did not move, remaining in place despite the danger.

"He has been disarmed, I saw to it myself.", he said, hoping to save the situation.

In return, one of the knights growled: "How can we trust a man who hides his face?"

Slowly the messenger put the letter away and with both hands lifted the large helmet from his head. Immediately there were shouts, screams and unmentionable exclamations. Davos stood to its side, and was shocked by what he saw. At first, it looked like a gaunt face, very pale, with white hair and hollow eyes. But when he looked closer, he could see through the face, seeing a skull beneath it. The face almost seemed like it was flowing, not constant. Several men had drawn swords, ready to strike, many others were taking steps back once they had overcome the initial shock.

Again he spoke: "ACCEPT THIS LETTER", the face moves too slow to be voicing those words, following behind the movements that should have been. It walked forwards, and the knightsdid not even try to make it stop. They simply looked, frozen like everyone else. The creature, the spirit, held out the letter to the shivering Selyse, who was looking right at it, filled with fear, unmoving like the others.

She took it in her shaking hand, and the dead man stepped back, awaiting an answer as the queen let the letter fall, incapable of holding on to it. No one moved to stop it, or to help her, all were still looking at the horror. Except for Shireen. She moved rapidly, and took the scroll in her small hands. Nobody intervened as she returned to sit next to her mother: "Can I open it?"

Selyse nodded, and the messenger spoke: "YOU MAY READ IT TO THE QUEEN."

And so the little girl did: "To Selyse Baratheon, queen of the Stormlands and the Narrow Sea. I hope that this letter finds you and your daughter in as good health as mine was when it left me. This morning I had the unexpected and unpleasant experience of having to do battle with a force commanded by your husband, Stannis Baratheon, king of the Stormlands and the Narrow Sea. After taking command over my army I destroyed this mounted host. In my mercy I gave no pursuit. Amongst the captives that were taken was your husband and king. I have spoken with him, and now cordially invite you and your daughter to have supper with me tomorrow, for the permanent settlement of our disagreements. I solemnly pledge that no harm will come to you, and you will be reunited with your husband. If you do not come to keep a lonely lady like me company, I will entertain myself by…"

She stopped reading, looking terrified, tears welling up again. Her mother was shaken from her fear and whispered: "What is it, Shireen?"

"She, she, she wants to boil him!", she cried.


	48. 48 Stannis II

**STANNIS**

He would not admit or show it, but he was afraid. He cursed his stubbornness, and could only hope that his wife would see through the threats, and not come here. He did not want to die, did not want to feel pain, but if this countess got her hands on Shireen, he didn't want to imagine what she would do to her. He grinded his teeth as he lay on the ground, trying to sleep. His legs were bound to the tent's pole, and his hands were bound together. He could not flee. He could not escape.

He loathed himself for what he had done. For what he had said. He should not have given in, he should have died in battle. He should have brought his entire army to destroy this monster once and for all. He had seen it fall before, but she had returned, and showed her unnatural nature. And then, he saw them open. He grinded his teeth, he would show nothing. Even if he was alone.

It was the middle of the night, and he knew that he should sleep. But he couldn't. Not without seeing what he had seen. Not with the shame of defeat still in his mind. He understood why weak men would reach for the bottle. He had always feared being a weak man. But he had never grasped for the drunken release like his brother had. He had never given in to the temptation to forget his duty, because if he did, he would be nothing more than all those dregs in the gutters of Westeros. He had seen them all too often, whoring and drinking. He would not be weak like them. He couldn't. Ever. Even though he now wanted to.

Then he heard something, a scraping sound. The sound of cloth being cut. Immediately he looked up, to the back of the tent, where it was coming from. It was dark in the tent, just like it would be outside. And then he saw something move, the fabric shifted and a head peered through. He couldn't see it clearly, but he remained silent, following the movements. A little time later someone saw down next to him, and whispered softly: "Yer grace, keep silent."

He did as he was commanded by the voice he knew all too well. Ser Davos. He had been right in pardoning him, he was even more certain of that now. The man was brave, and capable. And loyal. If he had had a hundred men like him the Seven Kingdoms would be his already. But he hadn't. He had only one. He could feel the knife cutting between his hands, and saw another man at work on the ropes between his feet.

In silence he waited as they worked, and quickly his hands were free to move. Soon thereafter Ser Davos whispered: "Come."

He knew that a king should not obey a knight, but this was a different situation, and he worked himself up, realizing how hurt he had been during the battle. And how tired he was. The knight went in front of him, through the hole in the tent, then he came, and the third man would go last. Outside he could see the moon shining, and he crawled through the cut, into the open air, into freedom.

It was silent outside, just like it had been in the tent. As though even the birds would not come close to this place. He looked at the moon for a few moments, and at the stars.

"Yer grace, we must hurry. We have horses just over that crest over there."

Again he followed Ser Davos, who had brought four more men, slinking through the darkness. It was difficult, he almost fell a few times, the ground was hard to see despite the moonlight. He stopped himself from making too many sounds, but still he felt louder than the others. He stood on snapping branches, and he even stepped into a rabbit hole. He knew that he was slowing down the others.

Finally they were at the crest of the small ridge, and he could see a few more men standing with a group of horses. They did not call out, and he approached them, and the horses. The way back to his army, to safety, for him, and more importantly, for his daughter.

But then Ser Davos froze, and he followed suit. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but then he heard it. The sound of clapping. Slow, measured and soft. Muffled. Not the sound of hands on hands. And then he saw. The men, who had awaited them. They turned towards them, and he saw terrible wounds on them, blood, the marks of what looked like bites.

And then the voice, which he knew all too well, stepping from the darkness. "Escaping? How terribly unknightly. You can't imagine how disappointed I am. Slinking about in the darkness. Such a shame."

One of the men growled as he drew a short sword: "She's alone, we can take her."

"I strongly disapprove of violence.", she replied as her hand moved like a blur and there was a metallic flash. There was a cutting sound, and when he looked aside, he saw that the man who had spoken had a knife sticking from his chest. He looked down, and fell, trying to grasp the weapon.

"Lay down your weapons and submit like you should. I hate having to repeat myself, so, please, obey."

Everyone let go of their weapons at that moment. And Stannis could smell piss. The lady continued: "Now, whose idea was it to disturb me like this?"


	49. 49 Shireen I

**SHIREEN**

During the night Ser Davos had gone missing, and there was no sign of him. Her mother told her that he had fled, abandoned them like the useless man he was. The princess had then asked if they would go outside the city, to save Father. But her mother had not given an answer, and again left to go and pray to the Lord of Light.

So Shireen was sitting alone, reading. It was a book that she had found in the rooms that once belonged to the citadel's maester, and dealt with the Blackfyre rebellion. She found it difficult to understand it all, but she liked it. It distracted her from her fear, for her father, and for herself. She had been awake throughout the night. Whenever she closed her eyes she had seen the ghostly knight. The wight, he must have been one. The servant of the one she might have to see for herself.

She hadn't eaten yet, the servants didn't come for her, and her mother remained away. Her stomach was growling, but she couldn't go out to eat. She was afraid. Not even reading calmed her mind, when she looked at the book, the letters were dancing before her eyes, wriggling, and she yawned.

Her eyes closed and she saw something else. She saw a city, burning and heard untold numbers of screams, like those of the men that her mother had burned. She saw the houses, with the people behind the windows, all aflame. And through the flames came other men. Dead men, ghosts over bones, dressed like knights. They marched right through them, towards her, holding their swords to strike. And Shireen tried to run. But she couldn't. She only fell, and when she looked up, she saw the knight who had delivered the message stabbing down towards her.

She shouted and woke up, noticing that she had drooled on the book. Luckily the maester wouldn't know about that. Moments later the door was thrown open, and her mother entered. She looked almost as tired as her daughter: "Shireen! What happened?"

Instantly the girl's fear was replaced by another. She didn't like her mother very much, she always was harsh and she often thought that she was hated by her. "Nothing. I fell asleep and had a dream."

The woman walked towards her, a little calmer, but still harsh: "You should sleep in the night, not during the day. Now, dress yourself, like a princess should."

By the end there might have been a hint of concern in her voice, but Shireen couldn't hear it. She only heard that she should be dressed. She answered softly: "Will we, will we go?"

"Yes, we will depart shortly. Make yourself ready."

She didn't dare to ask where they would be going, because she already knew. At least it meant that she would see her father again. But she was afraid of the dead, and didn't look forwards to meeting them at all.

************************

They left the city in a small party. Shireen was riding next to her mother, who was wearing her crown and one of her usual dresses. Shireen herself had tried to look as good as possible. She was wearing a red dress, she had been given many red ones lately, decorated with black stags running after each other. She wore a small golden crown, as a princess should, shaped like the flames that she hated so much. She wished that she could cover her left side, she hated how people looked at her face.

They were met by a small mounted party, consisting entirely of knights. The messenger was with them, as were several she knew. Stormlords. Even she knew what this meant. The dead could take everyone, even the highest lords. They were led across a road, past something that really surprised her. A field, but there were gauges torn through it, and on one side, even a large hole, dozens of feet across. As though the ground was thrown away by something there. And it was scorched, and to her disgust she saw pieces of bone and crows eating shreds of what might have been human flesh.

Just across this field there was a small camp, much smaller than her father's had been. In front of those tents there is a large black one, with the sides worked open, except the western side, that remains enclosed, putting the whole thing into shadow.

The queen and princess were helped from their horse, and led towards the strange tent, which had a table in the center. At its head sat a lady. She looked short, and wears a black dress that was more concealing than any lady's that she had ever seen. Even the neck was covered and the face was surrounded by black flowers, seemingly made from some fabric, but some of her red hair flowed from below it. She was pale, sickly pale even, and looked at them with strange yellow eyes. They seemed to bore right through Shireen, and she looked away, to the others who were seated, to avoid those eyes.

Next to the lady she saw a blonde lady, a little younger than her mother but much more beautiful. She however seemed afraid, and constantly looked to her right, to a similarly blonde young man who was wearing a vest decorated with lions. Lannister lions. Those two could only be Joffrey and Cersei. The two places opposite them were empty. There were no more seats, and Shireen wondered where her father was.


	50. 50 Cersei III

I came across some fics that answer reviews first, and I decided to adopt that format.

**DGfleetfox: **Thank you very much. Sybille is a bit more tricky than most of Westeros would understand. She is already working on a new order, under herself, as will be demonstrated soon.

**CERSEI**

She looked at the approaching pair with a look of scorn on her face. That girl, the horrible, misshapen, mutilated thing, she must be her enemy's infamous daughter. And the other, with the ugly Florent ears, her mother. They looked horrible, but still, the queen was wondering. If they were here, their father should be there as well. They were coming willingly, but Stannis was nowhere to be seen. Was he such a coward to send his wife and daughter to the monster that had captured them? He probably was. Men were always weak, and left the real work of governing and diplomacy to the women, like herself.

She wondered about the lady, who called herself countess, which was some sort of foreign title. She looked perfectly calm. There was a certain beauty in her, but something seemed cold about her. She had never seen her hostess betray any real emotion. Somewhere the blonde admired Sybille. She had tremendous power, she ruled herself. But still. She seemed extraordinarily prudish, always keeping her flesh hidden, dressed as though she was in the middle of a winter even in today's heat. Perhaps she had something to hide, some disease or malformation.

The other two guests reached the table, and the countess spoke: "Welcome, thank you for coming. And please, be seated."

They hesitated, of course they did. But the countess waved them on, and they sat down. The deformed child in front of Cersei. It was hard to not be disgusted by her scaled face. She should have died from her disease, just like her brother should have died decades ago, as an infant. There should be no place in the world for such hideousness. But the countess only seemed to be welcoming.

"Now, I believe that some introductions might be in order. I am Sybille von Carstein, countess of Sylvania and Transfluvia. Sitting here, next to me, is lady Cersei Lannister, and her son, lord Joffrey Lannister of the Westerlands. I presume that you must be Shireen Baratheon, and your mother, lady Selyse."

The woman answered in her painful voice: "I am queen of Westeros, as my husband is its king in the name of the Lord of Light."

"Oh yes, the Lord of Light", Sybille replied in a mocking tone, "He is a false god. Like all gods are. Lies told by priests to gain power. There are no gods."

Selyse looked aghast, while Cersei smiled. She was inclined to agree with the countess, and after what had happened, she had an idea of how to work with her. A prideful woman, with great power. The ugly girl interrupted: "Where is my father?"

Sybille leaned towards the child, smiling sweetly. It was almost chilling to watch. "Your father is a really mean man. He broke his word. He tried to defy me, with the help of some of his servants. He is not invited to have dinner with the civilized people. But don't worry, you can see him later. But you look famished."

She clapped her hands, and servants delivered golden plates, along with strange utensils, gilded as well. All of them were also given a fine crystal glass, which was quickly filled by girls standing behind them. Cersei looked at her glass, and recognized wine in it. That was good, she longed for some wine. She hadn't had any for days now. Peculiarly enough, there was very little food on the plates, only some vegetables. It seemed terrible to her, to not have meat.

"Now, Shireen, tell me, what do you like doing?", the lady asked sweetly.

The hideous girl looked up from her vegetables, to look at the countess. "I, ehm, I like to read."

"That is good. Reading can be very interesting. What do you like to read?"

It was insulting, how she was only speaking to the girl, ignoring all the others. But no one dared to intervene, afraid of her dark power.

"I like to read stories, about far-away lands, and history."

"Truly? Could you maybe tell me how it was that Westeros was unified into one kingdom?"

The girl looked surprised, but the manipulation was all too clear to Cersei. She remembered what Sybille had said earlier. She wanted to break up the Seven Kingdoms.

"Well. There were many different kingdoms. And then Aegon the conqueror arrived, together with Visenya and Rhaenys. They had dragons and an army. One by one they fought the kingdoms. And once that was done, he made the Iron Throne, and became king.", the girl answered, telling the story that every child in Westeros knew.

"Truly? So, they were unified because someone with dragons told them that they were? That seems rather illegitimate to me."

"What made you a lady then?", the girl asked, causing her mother to intervene: "Please, my lady, forgive my daughter. She is still young."

"There is no need for forgiveness, my lady", the countess answered, "questions are the way we all learn. So, let me tell you about myself."

She paused, sitting regally, like Cersei liked to: "My parents, Vlad and Isabelle von Carstein are the closest to gods in the world. When they commanded it, the sun would set, and mountains fell. They have true love, and are only for each other. Through their love I have five brothers, Manfred, Konrad, Hans, Pieter and Fritz, and no sisters. My birth was some six hundred years ago, into immortality, like that of my family."

She let it sink in, and Cersei's mind raced. If this woman was truly that old, and this wasn't a mere tale, then she had tremendous power. She had already seen some of it. Perhaps she could be tempted to share.

"But we could not live in peace, the mortal people were jealous. Led by their priests, who considered us to be evil, they assembled vast armies and marched towards us. It was terrible, all that hatred, born of jealousy. They marched, and we saw them. We saw that they hurt each other more than they could ever hurt us. And we raised our own armies, to do battle. It took many years, to crush all enemies, and to reduce all of their keeps. But we won. We always win. We cannot be slain after all. Every battle our forces grew, but we found much misery in the towns of those who fought us. Injustice, suffering and hunger. It slowed us down, we had to help all those poor people."

It had to be a lie, no one with power would ever spend so much time on the smallfolk. Cersei was certain of it.

"And so we brought the law, and organized governments where our armies advanced. My own attack was to the west, and I triumphed in dozens of battles and hundreds of sieges. And whenever I won, the people were terrified, told terrible lies by their priests. But I showed my mercy, and I fed them. And I brought order to where there once had been chaos. Finally, after endless years of war we gathered to take the final bastion of our enemies. It was one of the greatest battles ever fought, and it only ended when we personally stormed the citadel, leaping over the walls and putting the enemies to the sword. All the peoples of the world knelt, and begged us to rule them. That is legitimacy. Not ruling at the point of a sword, but because we are the best suited to it."

Again there was a pause, and Cersei was certain now that she was lying. Things did not work like that. She knew people too well for it. But some of it must be truth. Von Carstein clearly was a powerful sorceress, binding the dead to her will. But she was no saint. Saints never succeed.

"I became countess of Sylvania, which I came to rule alone. I built many homes, to travel continually, to help my people towards justice. I used my magic to lift one of my towers up, so it might always travel with me. It was difficult, and I almost succeeded. But during the casting I sensed a singular opportunity. This world, in need of a savior. I couldn't refuse my nature, and I sent a brief message to my family. And I left them, the only way between our worlds closing behind me. I did not have a great army assembled with me, only a fraction of my personal guard. Knights, who have sworn eternal service to me. And I saw the state of this land. Wracked by wars, by injustice. And I gathered my forces, and drew power to me. And I went forth, to destroy those who would bring disorder. But there is only so much that I can do at one moment. But I assure all of you, justice will prevail."

**DISCLAIMER: For anyone who isn't familiar with Warhammer lore, this is nothing but a great pile of propagandic lies. **


	51. 51 Shireen II

**SHIREEN**

She was awed by the short lady sitting next to her. She couldn't deny it. She smiled in such a friendly way, seemingly not even noticing her face. And she seems to want what is best for the world, but she doesn't entirely trust that. The priestess also claimed that. But she always scared Shireen, she seemed too intense. Unlike lady von Carstein, who even seems modest and kind. Not like the monster that she was told about.

"But enough about me.", she spoke again, "I bear many burdens, as all must do. This night however I want to talk about the future. As you all know I long for peace, to introduce law and justice. It is what these lands need after all the wars that have been fought. For that reason there are a few matters that I wish to settle. First of all, it should be publically known that lord Joffrey over here will be ruling lord of the Westerlands, under the regency of his mother until his eighteenth birthday. I will take the place of their overlord, but I guarantee that there will be little interference from my side, as I will busy myself with my own lands."

Shireen looked at the Lannisters sitting opposite her, who simply stared at their food. Especially the boy, Joffrey, seemed to be afraid of saying anything, or even moving his face. That in turn frightened Shireen. What had been done to them?

"I will also forgive house Baratheon for making war on me. Lady Shireen will be lady of the Stormlands, the Narrow Sea will be added to my personal domains."

She looked at the lady with wide open eyes. She, lady of the Stormlands? She opened her mouth: "What about my father?"

"He has made three mistakes. First he resisted me when I came to take King's Landing. I have forgiven that, because I understand that mortals make errors. The second time he came riding to do battle with me. I have forgiven that, he was under the influence of a red serpent. But he defied me a third time, seeking to slither away into the night. For that I cannot forgive him. He will have his punishment, as will those who aided him."

"No!", she shouted, "don't hurt him!"

"I am sorry, lady Shireen, but as you will learn, justice must be served. You will not yet take up your seat, you will do that formally when you reach your majority. Until then, your mother will act as your regent, and you will stay with me, to be shown how to rule in a new age."

"What will happen to my husband?", her mother asked.

"He will be shown the error of his ways. But please, focus on important matters, such as dinner."

Servants approached again, taking away the plates. Shireen looked at them for a few moments, when she saw something peculiar. None of them had eaten much, but the least of all had been taken by the countess. She had not taken a single bite. She only drank. From what she could see it was no wine, it was too red for that. Perhaps some foreign drink, but in all her life she had only seen one liquid like that. Blood.

She felt frightened, despite what she had already been told. Something was wrong with her, and she couldn't be the kind goddess that she claimed to be. More food was brought, this time it looked like crumb that had been baked somehow, but when she tasted it, she found that it was only an outer layer, surrounding delicious meat. Finally eating something other than the few leaves of the previous dish distracts her from her surroundings. She is just so hungry.

But then she notices that he mother isn't looking her way anymore. She is looking away from the table, as are the two Lannisters. She follows their gaze, and there she sees him. Her father. Held by a fully armoured knight, the one who brought the initial message. He wears some sort of sack-cloth. By his side is a crone. She looks absolutely ancient, balding already with a drawn spotted skin and white hair. More a corpse than a person. She wears a torn red dress, which is splattered with mud and blood. Her mouth is covered by a gag, just like the one her father is wearing. Something is familiar about her, but she can't place it.

Her father has a defiant look on his face, but for the first time ever she sees a hint of fear. He looks at her, almost imploring her. It is then that the countess speaks again: "Ah, our guests have arrived. Both of you have taken action against my person, have sought to spread false faith and have committed untold crimes against the people of these lands. For that you will suffer the punishment prescribed by the laws of Transfluvia. Commence the punishment."

She wanted to avert her eyes, but she couldn't. She was almost frozen to her spot, and hardly noticed the skeletons standing behind her. The sight was terrible. Her father was forced to the ground, and his gag was removed. More skeletons appeared to hold him in place when a final one appeared, carrying a pointed pole. She could see the same scene playing out with the crone. There was hardly any sound, no one breathed as they watched, and the prisoners seemed too exhausted to speak. She could however hear the sound of someone sipping a drink. Right next to her. The countess. It can't be anyone else.

And then the screaming began. It went right through her, and she shouted: "Stop it! Please! Stop it!"

The lady replied, while Shireen saw the pole forced right through her father: "It is unfortunate that this has to happen. But they went beyond mercy. And what they themselves have done to their prisoners is at least as painful."

She hardly heard it, and certainly didn't stop caring. But there was some truth in it. Her father had burned people, and she had always feared their screams. And now he, even he, was screaming like they did as he was lifted into the air, the pole following his spine and exiting besides his head. He didn't sink any lower. Next to him the woman was placed, and she too screamed. It changed when they were no longer moved and she shouted: "The Lord of Light will punish you for your crimes! Abomination! May his fires burn you for eternity!"

"Your false god has no power here, see that, and face the truth. There is no divinity. Only me."


	52. 52 Jaime II

First of all, I'm sorry for not having posted anything new in a while. After a series of disasters, I have however written this short piece, continuing the story. I have lost all my notes, so things will take some time to piece together again.

**JAIME**

He was pacing through the small room that he had not been allowed to leave for days. He had not even had the opportunity to shave. After being captured he had been brought to Harrenhal, along with almost all of his knights, each of them equally disarmed. He didn't know where they were being kept, and had not spoken to anyone. Except for one. A woman, rather ugly, haggard woman dressed in grey. She talked to him, she looked at him, through the small hole in the wall.

And from her he had learned much, despite her heavy accent. She was a servant of the countess, named Luise. But there was more to her than being a mere servant, she said that she commanded great powers, and could raise the dead, just like her mistress. He hated looking at her, and wanted only to sneer at the ugly creature, but he had been desperate for any kind of company after he had been alone for a full week, and welcomed even her words.

Now he was sitting at the bed, the only piece of furniture, trying to find a way to escape. He knew that he had been taken to a dungeon, but not how deep it was. But he knew that he could do it, if only he got his hands on a sword. He could best the dead warriors, he knew that. And he would kill the countess himself, for betraying him, and for forcing him to yield. How dared she?

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the door creaking open. He had lost his sense of time, so expected it to be a delivery of food, even though he was not yet hungry. But when he looked up, he saw Luise, the witch. She was no match for his Cersei, in no way whatsoever. She looked old beyond her years, worn and haunted. She was unarmed, of course she was. No one would bring a weapon into his presence, no one who knew of his prowess and skill.

But he knew the look in her eyes. He had seen it in untold numbers of women, all of them admiring his beauty. As they should, even if only Cersei would ever have him. She croaked: "Hello, Jaime. How do you feel?"

"I've been better. I could do with some sunshine, and stretching my legs would be fine as well."

"My mistress is returning. Do you know what that means?"

"She will doubtlessly have plans for me.", he replied, looking her into the eyes. They were suddenly sad, surprisingly sad.

"She will kill you, like she will kill all of your men. She will offer you eternal life, but it will not be life. Only servitude."

"Doesn't she realize who I am? I am worth more to her alive. I am Jaime Lannister for fuck's sake!", he wouldn't admit it, but being told that he would be killed, just like that, it frightened him.

"She knows everything.", Luise replied, sullenly, "she always does. And no one can stop her, not when she tears down the world, and makes herself mistress of all. No one knows where she can be hurt. That she can be hurt."

She would conquer everything? He knew that she could do it. And that in turn led to another fear. He knows where power lies. The Iron Throne. And he knows who holds it. His sister, his beloved Cersei. He can't bring himself to imagine it, but he knows that the countess will kill her, and their children, just to take the throne for herself. She is easily as ruthless as father was. "But you do? Her loyal servant?"

"Yes. I know it. But I won't tell anyone. That would be treason."

He knew it for certain now. He had to escape, no matter the cost, and he had to find Cersei, to protect her, to bring her to safety. He knew what he had to do, even if it would go against everything he used to believe in. "You wouldn't say it even to the man who loves you?"

Suddenly she smiled, widely, showing her teeth. One of her front teeth was broken, drawing his gaze. "I would, but only when love has been sealed."

He told himself that he was doing this for Cersei and stood up, embracing the frail woman's figure and whispered, to Luise, but actually to Cersei: "I will do anything for you."

She kissed him, and he answered, closing his eyes and picturing his sister. When she released him she said: "Come. You have been here long enough."


	53. 53 Bethany I

I'm sorry for introducing an OC, but for some points of view I require another character, and I don't know any fitting ASOIAF characters who are in the right sort of location. Please tell me what you think about this, if it disturbs the story too much, I will delete this chapter, and will try to find another way to do this.

**BETHANY**

Bethany Darkwood sighed. Normally she would finally have some time to herself early in the evening, while lady Rykker had supper with her family. But today she wasn't that lucky. She was called again, even though she had only just returned from her duties. She bore little love to the family ruling Duskendale, but for a second daughter of a knight there was little more than she could do than to be a glorified servant. Slowly she got up, and headed to the sound of that awful call that came far too often, the shrill voice of lady Falyse calling her name.

She headed to her lady. The woman was fat, old and hideous, or at least, that was how she looked to Bethany. Everything about her was repulsive to the young woman who had to serve her, even though she wore a false smile on her face, as always. "My lady?"

"Bethany.", she replied, "Come with me to the walls."

Bethany wondered why this would be, there didn't seem to be a reason for that, and the lady hated going outside, especially in the dark. "Might I ask why, my lady?"

"My lord husband is meeting with a party of knights, and I want to see what is happening."

The girl bowed her head, and followed her mistress to the walls. If only she could get away with a good push. She wondered what it would sound like, the lady shrieking as she fell, and then the crash into the hard ground below. She often had such dark thoughts, especially towards Falyse. She hated her, utterly and completely, but would never be able to do anything without hurting herself even more.

After a brief walk, during which the lady kept talking to her, mostly about her dresses and food, which completely bored Bethany, they arrived at the walls. It was half-dark already, and it was hard to see anything. Except some fifty feet from the gates. There were knights there, mounted on tall horses and wearing glittering armour. They carried torches, and stood almost unnaturally still. She found it hard to make out the sigils on their shields, but she could see some sort of animal that could have been a howling wolf. A sign that could only point to the North, with which they were at war. She had heard rumours, and they said all sorts of things, and most of them were completely insane. One said that King's Landing had fallen, others that it had repelled all assaults. Someone even claimed that the dead were walking. Bethany didn't believe that, and had resolved to wait for ravens with true news rather than all these insane ideas. As though some woman appearing from nowhere could destroy all armies of the Seven Kingdoms on her own.

Her eye was caught by a fluttering banner. It was black, depicting a wolf howling to a red moon. Bethany knew most houses of Westeros and their sigils, but she had never heard of any like that. Between the knights she spotted a shorter form, sitting in a most peculiar way, sideways. And if she could see it correctly, it was a woman of some kind. For a moment she thought that the woman looked right at her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

And then the gates opened, and lord Rykker, along with several of his household knights rode forth, to meet with the strangers. She couldn't hear what was being said, but she could hear that the lord was raising his voice, while his knights seemed uneasy. He started gesticulating wildly, but there was no visible reaction from the opposing party. Lady Falyse commented: "What are they talking about? And why are they making my husband angry?"

"I don't know, my lady, but it seems as though they are making some sort of demand of him."

The meeting lasted a little longer, before the visibly enraged lord rode back to the castle, at a tremendous speed. The strangers remained for a few moments, before their torches went out, and everything was shrouded in darkness. She kept watching, and almost didn't notice that Falyse had already left the ramparts.

She rapidly followed, and heard her shrill voice in the courtyard: "What is happening?"

The lord's face seemed red, even in the poor light, and her growled: "Some bitch says that she has an army, and wants me to surrender. Me! Surrender! To her!"

He kept raging and fuming, and Bethany came to understand that this woman, who called herself von Carstein, had claimed that Duskendale was hers in accordance with treaties she had made, and wanted him to submit to her rule and laws. Naturally, the lord had refused, even when she threatened that the castle and the town below would come under siege.


	54. 54 Jaime III

**JAIME**

For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity Jaime breathed fresh air, outside air. He felt stronger, no longer locked into that blasted room. The witch was an annoyance, but for now he would have to put up with that, just like he had to put up with that fat oaf who his father gave his sister. He missed her, even though he would never tell anyone. And he was going back to his sweet Cersei, to protect her. The only one in the world worth protecting. Far more so than the only other he had ever kissed. Luise was repulsive, her presence alone grated on his nerves more than the second king he should have killed had. But at least he had a sword now, and that meant that he was closer to being whole again.

Again he heard the woman's croaking voice: "Jaime, come, this way."

She pulled slightly on his sleeve, in a way that she must have considered to be romantic. He however didn't see things like that. He would have cut her down there and then, but he still needed her to escape. She pulled him towards the courtyard, Harrenhal's massive fields that could have contained a whole city without being crowded, he whispered: "Won't there be guards?"

"Yes, there should be hundreds. But the countess isn't watching, it's day. So they willnot intervene with me."

"Are there others?", he felt an idea forming in his head, "can we rescue the other knights?"

"She will notice that, and many are too weak to walk with us. We're safer alone."

She winked at him, and his heart turned to lead. He knew what she meant, and the mere idea made him sick. Fortunately he had learned to always hide his feelings, and now he put them behind his smile. He had things to look forward to, and he wouldn't be denied his desires. Even if it meant putting up with Luise. "And are there horses?"

"None that still live, the countess decided that we did not have the supplies for them. But I have animated one, which we can ride together. Isn't that romantic?", she smiled.

Jaime however didn't fully understand it at first, all the horses dead? But she could animate one? Then it dawned on the man with the sharpest smile in the seven kingdoms, Luise would turn one of the horses into a wight. "Can we ride this horse normally?"

"It can only be made for a specific rider, but this is my steed. And I have full control over it. The countess won't work able to take that away."

************

A short while later Jaime Lannister, son of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and kingsguard, was seated on what seemed to him as a completely unfit horse. No mighty charger or great steed, but a smallfolk's horse that he, even though he sat like a horseman, could not control. It felt strange, to sit on a horse, to react instinctively to it, but to see no reaction. It was almost as strange as feeling the warmth of a woman who was not his sweet golden Cersei.

That was the moment that he truly loathed himself, something in him stirred which should have remained firmly asleep, and Luise giggled: "Just wait until we're safely away from here, my handsome knight."

Cersei would kill him for this, he knew it, but tried to force his thoughts to something else, something to save himself for his one true love: "Yes", he started his lie, " it is a shame that we have to flee like this. I should have come riding to you in my armour, and after besting this countess I would have ridden off with you, to be happy."

Luise's moid turned: "You can't defeat her, not now."

"Any man can be defeated, or woman for that matter.", he knew that he could do it, he just needed to figure out how.

"Von Carstein is not any woman. She is centuries old, and mortal weapons can't harm her. And now she has her ring. Even if you destroyed her, she would return soon after."

"What sort of witchcraft is that?!", he exclaimed.

"The magic of death, which I study, and the curse of the vampire.", Luise replied sounding respectful.

"And what in the seven hells is a vampire?"

That question seemed to surprise the witch who held her arms around him. After a few moments she said: "Vampires are princes of the night and death. I don't know much about their kind, the countess never said much about such things, but there are many tales about them. Especially in Sylvania, where I was born. A vampire is not alive, but has died, and returned from that death in some way. I don't know how, I only heard stories. A vampire is not like a zombie or a skeleton, it retains its personality and body. And they drink the blood of the living. A vampire is much stronger and faster than a mortal man, I have seen the countess force an ogre to the ground with her bare hands."

"What is an ogre", Jaime interrupted.

"A monster shaped like a man, but twice as tall, and as strong as you would expect.", Luise explained, "but there is more to the vampire than that. They are faster than a running horse, they can turn into animals, control the weather and make people do things by looking at them."

That worried Jaime, but he knew some of it already, he had fought the monster before, and it had been a disaster. "But is there a way to harm her?"

"There are many tales about that, but I don't know which are true. Some say that vampires cast no reflection, which is true, the countess has no mirrors. A vampire can be harmed by an enchanted weapon, or one made of silver. Or by pushing a wooden stake through the heart, but I don't know if that is true, I have never seen any of those things happen. They are also said to be repulsed by garlic, which is true, the countess has completely forbidden garlic in her domains. Vampires also can't cross running water on their own, they need to be helped across them. Which might also be true. A man with true faith holding a symbol of Sigmar would also repulse the vampire, or perhaps those of other faiths too. I have never seen any try. And a vampire cannot enter sacred ground. She has never been inside a temple, and those are a safe refuge from the vampire."


End file.
